


Red Light District

by Germindis



Series: Red City [2]
Category: Underfell - Fandom, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Underfell, Bestiality, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Forced Prostitution, Horror, Other, Psychological Horror, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Sexual Abuse, Somnophilia, Suicidal Ideation, Temporary Death, Tentacles, Underfell Sans, YOU WILL BE...UPSET, gross eating, meant to be read by absolute monstrous garbage only, so much of it, super duper gross like wow, super gross, we have time travel relax
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2018-06-07 03:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 156,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6782854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Germindis/pseuds/Germindis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome back to Mr. Bones' Wild Ride!</p><p>Underfell Sans is forced into sex work. Facing such hardships as tying ties, vengeful dogs, and strange pudding, he struggles through the job, haunted by flashbacks of his traumatic rape at the hands of a former client.</p><p>Sequel to Red Stop Signs, although you could probably catch on well enough if you started here.</p><p>WARNING: PLEASE CHECK ALL...THE TAGS. (whispers) get out while you still can</p><p>Mr. Bones says: the ride never ends. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into the boiling pot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for something horrible.

The muggy air must have prompted someone to open the windows, he could understand that, but what he couldn't understand was why some idiot had left the door wide open. There weren't many monsters around here, but it wasn't a good neighborhood. And the door was just one more opening for that all-pervading rotten egg smell to waft through.

A dark shape blocked the door. He knew it was something awful, something truly terrible. This was what you got when you left the doors open. These things came in for you.

He backed up against the wall and tripped, his legs sliding out from under him. The thing lurched in toward him. It had shiny mucous-covered skin and feelers instead of a face.

Maybe if he talked to it. It was just another monster, it couldn't be completely alien, it had to have things in common with him. Maybe it had family. Maybe if it remembered that, it wouldn't do terrible

it was squirming closer

     terrible things to him...

He couldn't speak. Couldn't cry out, couldn't whimper. The door was wide open behind it, but his legs were useless. The door was fucking open right behind it, he could just crawl over and he'd be free and nothing would have to

It was close enough to give off a chill air the way a heater would give off warmth. Its body completely blocked the light. He finally found his voice, but it came out as no more than whispered whines.

“no no please help me...Boss...d-dad...someone help me please, d-don't let it—” The faceful of feelers grazed the wall over him and left a trail of mucous as it slipped downward. “please d-d-don't let it do this again, not again please...”

The feelers were dangling just above his head, oozing slime onto his face.

 

Sans woke with a gasp for air. He was greeted by Lesser Dog's face hanging over him, panting and dripping some drool on his forehead.

“Wakey wakey.”

The dog was carrying him bridal style through Waterfall. Sans didn't know how he'd managed to stay asleep in his arms, but he wasn't surprised he'd had nightmares.

How Sans got to this point was somewhat of a long story. Papyrus owed the king a lot of money, it was Sans' fault, and Sans was paying a debt. That is, if paying a debt were something you were expected to do in perpetuum. At the same time and at the king's behest, Sans was getting his useless self out of the Boss' way to greatness. Not that Papyrus saw any of it from that angle. As far as the Boss knew, Sans was on his way to the capital to serve the king in the science department.

Sans had been given a week to go back with Papyrus to Snowdin before starting his new job. After one night of nightmares, Sans hadn't wanted to be around Papryus any more, to let him see him this way. Besides, the longer he said goodbye, the more he would wish for impossible things, like someone forgetting to wind the clock on life itself and for everything to halt here where his brother was proud of him.

On day two of his last week of freedom, Sans told Papyrus he needed to go ahead and leave for New Home early, and he cut and run to sleep in the woods. Apparently Lesser Dog thought it would be amusing if on the last day of the week, he absconded with Sans in the night while he was still unconscious. Sans didn't even get the chance to use the morning to change his mind and say goodbye to Papyrus again. Not that he was going to, but it had been nice to think about.

Lesser Dog walked them into one of Waterfall's closed chambers and stopped inside, a ways from the edge of a quietly lapping pool. The chamber was as gloomy as Sans remembered. It was hard to tell if there was anyone home, the darkness of the corners so thick it was almost physical.

“We're here.”

Lesser Dog lowered Sans to the ground to stand on his feet, but didn't let go of him. He tugged Sans' arms and folded them behind him, pressing his crotch against Sans' back. At Sans' height, his head barely reached the dog's chest. Sans felt something long and hard press between his shoulder blades through the dog's clothes.

“I'll see you again soon, pup.” The dog bent his head down and his tongue almost touched Sans' face. Sans drew his head as far away as he dared. “Real soon. I promise.”

A soft, threatening voice emanated out from the back of the dark pool.

“Hands off.”

The dog let go and Sans stumbled a few feet before straightening back up. Lesser Dog had his hands up in a mockery of surrender.

“Put it on my tab.” Then Lesser Dog looked like he'd just thought of a very funny joke. “Hey! I bet Grillby would love to pay you a visit at your new job, wouldn't he Sansy? Bet you wouldn't need to get paid to suck that hot cock. Should I tell him where to find you?”

“You'll do no such thing.”

The dog shot an irritated look in the direction of the voice. “You're no fun at all.”

Then he left, and Sans was alone with the dark shape at the back of the pool and its giant, glowing, cat-like eyes focused directly on him.

Okay. He could do this.

There was a point where Sans pleaded to be killed instead of being taken back to Onion, but that was before. Well. Suffice to say that Onion at least kept each session to a livable duration. Not so long ago, that slug had Sans completely at its mercy for an entire night. Although after the ordeal, Sans doubted the slug considered mercy an option. Now Sans knew what a step up looked like. The octopus didn't even hurt him so long as he did what he was told. So Sans would do as he was told, and survive this, and get to step two.

Which was probably going to be a step back down towards the worst.

The octopus drifted to the edge of the pool, but no tentacles breached the water. The huge face simply stared at Sans with suffocating patience.

“Come over here, Sans.”

No no no he wasn't ready. He wasn't ready for this. He could still practically feel the slug monster's slime on him, and if anything touched him now—

Sans' legs locked firmly in place.

Onion hadn't hurt him when he followed directions, but if he couldn't manage to obey...amidst all the other material for his nightmares recently was the echo of the feeling Sans got when tentacles penetrated his soul with ill intent. Like a manufactured dread that was somehow worse than his natural fear, like slime being poured inside him to some place he couldn't reach, could never clean.

“I...I. I c-c-can't move. Please d-don't punish me. I'm not. I'm not doing it on p-purpose.”

Tentacles reached for him. “I told you before that you don't need to be afraid.” He was grabbed around the middle and pulled over the water. “Just be a good boy for me, and I won't hurt you.”

Sans appeared to have lost the ability to be humiliated by Onion's words, so that was a relief at least.

“I'm not—d-doing it on purpose, I can't move sometimes and it just—just happens, I c-can't help it—”

“It's okay. I'm not going to punish you, Sans. You didn't do anything bad. Last time you tried to attack that other monster, remember? We're not going to do anything right now. Just relax.”

Tentacles tugged his shorts down. Sans couldn't hold back a small hitch of his breath. That was about the fastest turn around from 'we're not going to do anything' to stripping that he could have imagined, but Sans knew better than to ask him to stop. He shivered at the open air.

“Let's see your pussy.”

Sans swallowed and concentrated his magic. It was the first time he'd made a cunt since it had been used to meld with the slug's magic injection. It felt wrong. Sans didn't want to even deal with its presence or the unnatural wetness near his bones. The octopus' focused gaze between his legs made a lump form in Sans' throat. Silent tears streamed down his face. He didn't try to cross his legs or hide anything, he just let his legs dangle freely with his cunt fully exposed, crying openly like a child.

Onion gave an exasperated huff.

“That bunny...he undid all of my hard work. Muffet too. I never would have...well, never mind.”

The tentacles pulled Sans' shorts back up around his waist.

“I'm not going to touch your pussy today. We're just going to go over some verbal commands. But keep the magic there, I want you to get used to keeping it up for longer periods.”

 

Sans was told he had two weeks of training to get through with Onion, but it wasn't so awful as he thought it might be. For one thing, there was the fact that he knew there was an end date, whereas the last time he'd been captive, he'd been in the dark about everything. For all he'd known he could have been kept there the rest of his natural life.

The other bonus was that Onion hadn't touched Sans sexually since starting retraining. At some points Sans started to think, just for a second, that maybe he looked as disgusting as he felt after the slug had its way with him. Then Sans mentally kicked himself, because it didn't matter if the octopus thought he was disgusting. Onion was disgusting too. Everything was disgusting.

But Onion did touch Sans in other ways. He rubbed his neck, massaged his shoulders, stroked his face. He did it constantly—while he was talking to Sans, when they were done for the day—varying up the touches so they were always stimulating and noticeable. At first the attentions made Sans tremble, made him struggle not to beg because he knew it would get him in trouble, but after a time and as the touches never gave way to anything more, it started to relax him.

Sans wondered if this was how frogs felt as they were slowly boiled alive. He'd heard that they didn't even notice it was happening. Maybe they felt like they were in a steamy bath up until one moment they weren't, and by then they were already goners.

 

“Sometimes clients will tell you to call them something that makes them feel good. Sometimes the names they choose are...silly. I'm going to drill you until you can say them with a straight face.”

“Heh...drill. Good one.”

“This isn't a promising start, Sans.”

There was a point where things shifted a little, some time around when he was being given poses and positions to practice, which reminded Sans in an oddly nostalgic way of how he used to joke with Grillby—how they would tease each other by striking Mettaton poses. It even felt just as chaste; Onion still didn't touch Sans, only directed him verbally while Sans stayed on the platform over the pool. Every once in a while a tentacle would move one of his legs to correct his position, would push his shoulders back to make him look more calculatedly undone, but somehow Sans had made it this far into training without getting fucked or punished. Boiling water didn't seem like the worst fate.

“Now, these are all real things that clients have asked our workers to call them over the years. I want you to repeat them without laughing.”

“Right. Okay.”

“Commander.”

“Commander.”

“World Champion.”

“World Champion?”

“The Plumber.”

“You made that up.”

“ _The Plumber_.”

“The...Plumber.”

“Chubby Hubby.”

“Ha ha, WHAT.”

“Okay, let's start over.”

And at that turning point, or some kind of breaking point, Sans temporarily forgot where he was. He ceased to be a captive, and the godawful tension lifted, and he wasn't afraid of what was going to happen to him that day. The change may have been unconscious, but it suited Sans' long held philosophy that just because things were hopeless didn't mean they also had to be depressing. He let himself play around a bit.

“What next, Chubby Hubby?” Sans tried out the Birth of Venus pose.

“Very funny, Sans.”

Then he reclined for a Venus of Urbino. “What's your command, Firebrand, Best in the Band?”

“Sans.”

And the classic spread eagle. “I'm yours to school, King Cool, Master of the Tool.”

“ _Sans oh my god stop_.”

“You laughed, now you have to repeat them all.”

And some time after that he'd passed muster. Onion had him sent to New Home. The octopus parted with Sans with an affectionate tickle on the chin, and Muffet took Sans away. She'd wanted to pick him up in person for his first official day. What an honor.

On the way to the capital, Muffet told him all about daily schedules, dress code, the names of other workers in his part of the complex, but Sans wasn't listening closely. As he passed sights of the Underground that he wasn't quite sure he would see again, he considered asking how often the workers were allowed to go out, but was too afraid of the answer. The Underground was small enough. His whole world was about to get even smaller.

They reached the complex in New Home. It wasn't much from the outside. The main entrance looked like a small restaurant surrounded by other nondescript buildings, but on the inside the buildings were actually all connected up. The kind of place you had to know you were looking for. Sans supposed the outward discretion was probably a good way to sift out the monsters with money from the shiftless bums drifting in, looking for a good time. Muffet showed Sans through the unassuming foyer. 

Before all this, Sans had heard of a brothel in New Home that everyone called Red City, but he'd never seen it for himself. Apparently, Muffet had wanted to call it something classier, something French. But the nickname stuck for a few reasons. By Underground standards, the place was huge. It took up several buildings at street level, and consisted of a network of cleared tunnels even further underground as well.

The so-called 'Red City' also lit all of the areas that were accessible to guests with red lights. There was a rumor that the lighting was meant to hide bloodstains. Perhaps it was innate, or maybe it was growing up with claustrophobia and the pressures of surviving in a hellhole, but either way a lot of monsters had developed a taste for pain to go with their pleasure. As they passed by a suspiciously dark spot in a red hallway, Muffet assured Sans that in deference to his 1 HP, he wouldn't have any rough clients. Sans didn't think the assurance was apropos of nothing, and he didn't find it comforting.  

They left the red lit area and entered the living quarters. Muffet pointed out the cafeteria on the way to Sans' room, said he could grab a snack before bed if he wanted. Said not to take food into his room or he'd attract bugs, and the other spiders didn't like the crowding. Muffet opened the door to his room and waited for Sans to enter. Then she wished him good night and left him.

Sans took a look around the room. There was a small bed, a desk, a shallow closet, and a set of drawers. He opened one of the drawers. There were several sets of clean, folded clothes, all nicer than he was used to wearing. Button-up shirts and slacks and were those some ties in there? How did you even tie a tie?

It suddenly occurred to Sans that this was the first time he'd been by himself in weeks. He was in his own room, and no one was going to touch him all night. He didn't have to say how close he was to orgasm, or be picked up by giant limbs that could snap his spine as easily as pleasure him, he didn't have to be watched—

A tiny red light greeted him cheerily from the upper corner of the room. He wouldn't have noticed the camera if he hadn't looked up, but it wasn't at all concealed. 

Sans pulled off his t-shirt, figuring he probably wouldn't be expected to wear something so ratty again, and tossed it to drape over the camera's lens. Then he sat on the bed, swung his feet up, laid his head back on the pillow, and cried himself to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome baaack~! And if you're here testing it out without reading Red Stop Signs first: weeelcooome
> 
> with your permission, WE'RE GOING ON A RIDE TOGETHER. HOPE YOU HAVE FUN. OR. HOPE YOU HAVE A REACTION. <3
> 
> Please let me know how I'm doing with a comment if you feel so inclined, I appreciate it a lot and plan to wallpaper my future home with them.
> 
> Come join me on tumblr for porn livestreams and my frustrating ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)-filled answers to asks: http://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/


	2. It gets easier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> full disclosure, writing this chapter in particular might have been the most instances of me pausing and saying to myself "I don't know if I've ever written anything this weird before"

Sans hadn't actually taken his shirt off in a while, and now that he could see his own ribs and his soul, he noticed what the flower had been talking about. Once you knew what it looked like when a tracker was implanted in there, the weird discoloration was pretty obvious.

Sans was expected in the cafeteria for breakfast, but after he woke up he just stared at his soul for a while. He wasn't sure if the tracker had been put in last night—which would mean someone had been in his room when he was asleep—or while he was with Onion. He had no idea how he could have slept through something being put in his soul. The thought of someone touching him while he was unaware and vulnerable made him queasy.

As if he weren't always vulnerable. It wasn't like he'd tried to do anything even before it was put in. He had a brief thought that made him sadder than he cared for, that Papyrus would have rather Sans had gone down fighting than let this be done to him. But so long as Sans didn't do anything rash, Papyrus and his position in the royal guard were safe, so Sans tried not to dwell on it.

No, it really was the thought of someone coming into his room that bothered him the most. Seeing the camera was the fastest way to dispel any illusions of privacy or independence Sans might have had. Giving him his own room and then ignoring those boundaries somehow felt like a worse violation than Onion posing him like a toy and having him practice dirty-talking imaginary clients.

Sans got himself up and dressed in some of his new clothes. It would be a shame to play hooky for breakfast when there was a chance it would be the best part of the day.

In the hallway on the way to breakfast, Sans ran into Muffet. She was licking a pen and marking up something on a clipboard, and meanwhile other hands were busy touching up her hair and spreading butter and jam on a biscuit. She looked up and smiled at him, then did a double-take and stared at him in shock.

“Sans! Did you tie your tie like a shoelace?!”

Sans looked down at his tie, laced in the only knot he knew.

“...is that a trick question?”

“Appearances are important, you know. Come here.”

“Appearances for breakfast?” Sans mumbled. “It's not like I've even worn one of these before.”

When he went up to her he was immediately assaulted by more hands than were strictly necessary twisting over each other to fix his tie. The mess of hands straightened themselves out elegantly and pulled away to reveal a perfect windsor.

“Everyone cries on the first day.”

Sans went stiff. He stared at her.

“You think I don't know why monsters try to cover my cameras? Let me tell you, it's not so they can jerk it, their parts are too sore. Ha!”

Sans was silent and Muffet regarded him with disarming kindness.

“And I could still hear you, dearie. Nothing happens around here that I don't know about.” She leaned forward and rubbed Sans' back. “It gets easier. Soon you'll find that it's not so bad.”

Sans was set to call it a day already. He wasn't prepared to have his weakness shoved right out in the open this early in the morning. He stayed planted firmly in place, looking at the floor. Muffet was still rubbing his back, but gradually less soothingly and more mechanically.

“Well, go on, get something to eat.” She pushed him gently toward the cafeteria with three or four arms. “You're all skin and bones. No, that joke doesn't quite work. I tried. Eat plenty, dearie.”

Sans shuffled to the end of the hall.

“'put some meat on those bones,'” he muttered as he pushed open the cafeteria door.

The cafeteria was filled up with monsters, presumably the other workers. As Sans went through the doors, he gave the compulsive shudder he'd get right before he consciously noticed the presence of others right next to him.

The door was guarded on either side by some rather large monsters—Muffet's security. Sans did his best to keep moving forward and not to crumple there in the doorway. He shivered again as he passed through their huge shadows.

San recognized the monster at the end of the line for food. It was the mouse monster he'd seen in the cage in Waterfall, back when Sans was with Onion the first time. Sans picked up a tray and got in line behind the mouse. He decided not to introduce himself. He couldn't imagine a way to do that that wouldn't be unspeakably awkward.

Sans didn't have much appetite. He was sure the food looked fine, but the only things he could picture himself keeping down were some pudding cups labeled 'ask first.' Sans threw law and order out the window by grabbing one marked 'Cecil' for himself anyway.

The mouse swiped the pudding from his tray and put it on their own tray.

“That one's not for you.”

The hell if he was going to be pushed around by the only monster here smaller than him. At least on the inside, he could establish that he was a monster none of the other workers should fuck with. He swiped the pudding back and crunched the cup in his eye socket—he was a skeleton and it was magic food, it would all go to the same place. It was going to smart like hell, but at least it looked cool.

Maybe. His eye stung and felt like it was going to start tearing up. It was possible that had been a stupid move. The others also weren't looking particularly impressed. The mouse only stared at him, and a monster ahead of them in line snickered.

The mouse coughed. “Sorry, I guess I should have said...'you don't want to eat that one yet'?”

Sans would feel even more astoundingly stupid asking why not, so he walked out of the cafeteria without a word and dumped his tray in the trash on the way. Pudding in the eye could hold him over all day, he didn't give a fuck.

On his way down the hall, he felt the floor tilt. An earthquake? He caught himself from falling with a hand to the wall. No, maybe not an earthquake. The food hadn't helped with his nausea, and the hallway deciding to shake things up wasn't great either.

Heh. Shake things up.

The wall wasn't there anymore, which was pretty rude. Sans tripped away from it in a sideways charleston.

“wheee”

Something caught him. The mouse monster was valiantly propping him up with what appeared to be all their strength. Sans snorted and leaned harder on them on purpose.

“i'm a dancing crab”

“You're an asshole.”

Sans felt more hands grabbing him. Muffet relieved the mouse monster of Sans' weight, and the two of them led him down the hall. Sans drooped sideways, which happened to put more weight back on the mouse.

“God, why do monsters always get so much fricking heavier when they're sleepy or high?”

Muffet tugged at Sans again. They were leading him around the corner, back in the direction of his room.

Going back to bed already? Hell, that was just fine. If there was one thing Sans was really good at, it was sleeping. He'd wanted to go right back to bed when he woke up this morning anyway.

Sans should have been reacting more negatively to being dragged along like this, but something about it was very funny. Or it must have been, because he couldn't stop giggling. He half-heard Muffet and the mouse talking about him as they opened the door to his room.

“—and crammed it right in his eye socket! I think he was trying to do that thing where you smash a can on your head? But with a pudding cup. In the eye.”

“I'm watching that on repeat later. I'm thinking of starting a security cam video series: 'things Sans does, the end.'”

Fuck you, Muffet. And you, mouse twerp. And you, iridescent cannibalistic fish coming out of the wall, taking turns eating each other and barfing each other out.

Oh. Maybe something was wrong. No, Muffet probably forgot to get this room with the cannibalistic fish repellent. He'd be dealing with this all night, thanks a lot, Muffet.

Oh good. His bed.

“You gonna have anyone uh...help him with that?”

“Onion suggested that I don't let anyone touch him for a bit longer. I'm going to take his word on it, I suppose...Woshua can clear some of that away, and we'll hope he didn't absorb too much already.”

“It's just that he's looking a little...kooky. He's got that psychedelic rainbows look in his eyes. Whoa! Could you help me hold him down?”

Muffet's face swam in Sans' vision.

“Heh heh...you've got fish on you. Serves you right.”

“Okay, Sans.”

“It's not like he ate it. What happens if it goes through your eye?”

“He's a skeleton, Cecil. There are a few things I'm not clear on with how food works with him.”

Muffet kept pushing Sans' hands down, although he wasn't aware of reaching for her.

“There are too many fish.”

“I think he's probably gonna have a strong reaction, is all I'm saying.”

“We're a little past that, dearie. Watch over him until Woshua comes in. Call me if he breaks out in hives. Maybe he's allergic.”

“There are too many goddamn fish!”

“You're going to sleep the fish away, honey. Go to bed.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Goodnight.

 

 

Sans hadn't expected to have any sex dreams while he was here. Some dreams with sex in them, probably—nightmare recaps of the day's adventures. But not like. Honest to God sex dreams like he got when he was a horny teenager, that made him mutter and moan and thrust his hips at the empty air.

It was at least more creative than his old sex dreams. His eye was being tenderly licked, then something was pushed in, and hot jizz was coming inside it. And it felt far better than that had any right to. The warm tongue was back, lapping up the mess with careful attention to detail. Sans took in a sharp breath and bucked his hips.

Then someone was pressing sensually at his soul, and a warm spray gushed inside it.

Sans woke up to Woshua gently spraying its hose into his soul, a warm wet washcloth draped over the tube of the hose. The washcloth had some food stains on it, like it had just been used.

“Wh—Woshua, what the fucking hell?!”

Woshua backed up and fell off the bed. It wasn't able to raise its hands in surrender, exactly, but Sans got the impression of contrition from its manner. He sort of appreciated that the little janitor was considerate enough to be afraid of him, given that Sans wasn't any kind of threat in here.

“Just cleaning! Woshua was only cleaning.”

“Why are you cleaning me while I'm sleeping, Woshua?”

“Oh...I always did. You usually sleep all the way through it. You are a very heavy sleeper.”

“Yeah I...I'm starting to realize that.”

The janitor looked like something was bothering it. Woshua eyed Sans' soul and came as close to looking Sans in the eye as it came to looking anyone in the eye.

“Do you want Woshua to finish cleaning?”

Sans was about to tell Woshua where it could stick its stupid compulsions when he was struck with the memory of the talking flower pulling its vine out of his soul in utter disgust, shaking off the slime that stuck to it. Sans had never wanted so badly to feel clean. He was comfortable literally eating food out of the garbage, and he'd never felt so dirty in his life as he did in the past several weeks.

Woshua's hose hadn't hurt, at least.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

Woshua climbed back up and plugged his hose back in. Now that he was awake, Sans felt extremely awkward about the stimulating feeling the cleaning magic induced. But he felt like ages of slime were being cleared out of him. It was about as heavenly as he expected anything to feel ever again. He was half-aware of gripping the covers with tight fists.

“Oh...did you want to make love?”

Sans nearly fell off the bed. The janitor was looking down at Sans' crotch. Then Sans realized he had unconsciously formed a pussy when he'd started getting aroused, and it was emanating a soft glow through his pants. Sans stuffed his hands between his legs and crossed his knees.

“NO. UM. No, I...don't. Woshua.”

“All right. Woshua has finished cleaning. Good night. Or...good morning.” Woshua waddled out of the room.

 

 

The feeling hadn't dissipated and it had been an hour. Sans couldn't fall back asleep. His whole body was hot. The cunt refused to dispel no matter how hard he tried to relax it.

He testingly reached a hand down to his crotch, maybe with some idea of stroking something, but he couldn't bring himself to touch anything. He curled up in a shivering ball. Maybe he should've taken Woshua up on his proposition.

 

 

Fingers lightly touched Sans on the shoulder. Sans kept his eyes shut tight. If he couldn't see them, they couldn't see him, that was the way it worked. Muffet's musical tones cut through his wretched, lust-filled haze.

“Do you want me to touch you, Sans?”

Yes. Oh god yes.

“no.”

The fingers drew away from him.

“Yes...no. No, don't come near me.”

Sans heard a shuffling and felt the bed depress. Muffet must have sat down on the far end from where he was curled up, because he didn't feel body heat.

“Just what the fuck was that mess.”

“It's supposed to be much more mild than all that. And the correct dose doesn't cause...hallucinations? I suppose it _is_ rather potent magic. Usually monsters take only a spoonful.”

“ _Why do you put it out in entire cups_.”

“Why do you eat food that's not yours, 'Cecil'?”

Sans shut his mouth.

“You've been out for a few hours. You missed being shown around, so go to Cecil tomorrow and get them to take you. Tonight you're going to Lounge B.”

Sans curled up tighter.

“No one's going to touch you. They're just looking. You and some of the other workers will be serving drinks and socializing.”

“Socializing.”

“Flirting, dear. Do your best.”

Sans felt her get up from the bed.

“Wear the outfit I laid out for you. I tied the tie, so all you need to do is slip it over your head and tighten it.” Sans heard her muffle a giggle behind a hand. Fuck you, Muffet.

The door shut. Not caring enough to check if that meant she was gone or closed in the room with him, Sans reached down between his legs. He'd been changed back into his old shorts. Apparently those were his pajamas now.

He came closer to touching himself, but a phantom wriggling, the ghost of a pungent smell, made him pull his hand back sharply and use it instead to stifle the noises coming out of his mouth. He bit down on his hand.

An indeterminable amount of time later, his cunt finally dispelled, and Sans gave a single sob of relief. He uncurled slowly and rolled off the bed. He dressed himself in a daze, purposefully not thinking too hard about anything. He pulled the tie over his head as he opened the door.

Woshua was waiting right outside. Sans fell back.

“Miss Muffet said you were sweaty. Woshua is supposed to clean you again before you get dressed.”

“OH, FOR FUCK'S SAKE.”

 

 

Sans was almost uncomfortable with how good he smelled. He wasn't sure how anyone got hold of the smells of flowers and things that didn't even grow in the Underground. It was something summery that didn't suit him at all. Maybe jasmine, not that he would know.

He'd tried tightening the tie like Muffet said, but he couldn't get it to feel right. He didn't like how tight it could fit around his small, bony neck, but when he loosened it, he was sure it looked wrong. Now the knot was probably not even the shape it was supposed to be. He nervously teased at it as he turned the corner toward the lounge, entering the red lit hallways meant for guests.

He paused with the ruined knot held out from his neck like a noose, an appropriate enough response for what met him around the corner. A bunny monster was waving at him from the end of the next hall.

“There you are, my dear.”

Clarence the bunny, a theatrical sadist with a job as Asgore's Royal Inquisitor, which honestly explained a great deal—given that “inquisitor” was just a fancy word for a torturer who tortured in fancy ways for fancy reasons. Clarence wasn't widely known or talked about, and Sans had only learned after his encounters with him that this was because those who fell into his clutches rarely survived to tell the tale. Sans was one of the few. How that weird talking flower knew the bunny was beyond him.

Sans knew he should be having a totally different reaction to seeing his former torturer. But it seemed that meeting a familiar face in here, someone who was both smiling at him and presumably not planning on fucking him, was enough to trigger the part of Sans that felt like he was greeting an old friend. Oh well, it wasn't like his standards were particularly high before. Sans let himself keep walking up to him.

“What are you...doing here? You're not—”

“Oh you know, enjoying the décor. Admiring the structural integrity of the architecture. Sampling the complimentary water-with-lemon-slice apéritif. Everything one visits a brothel for.”

Sans stood there with his face stuck in a stiff half-smile. He wasn't sure how to deal with Clarence in a context where the bunny wasn't shocking him into submission. Clarence strode up to Sans and bent closer to his level.

“I'm just checking in on you.” He straightened Sans' tie and re-tied it. “You're certainly looking smart.”

Clarence continued fiddling unnecessarily with the tie for a moment before laying his arms out straight over Sans' shoulders, his hands dangling in the air. He sighed. “I know I haven't done a very good job of concealing that I'm just the teensiest bit enamored of you.”

“Um. Sure, Clarence.”

“And of course I can't help but feel I need to take responsibility, given that I deflowered you.”

What.

A memory came back to Sans.

_“I've never. Never been tortured before.”_

_“Well, that was exceedingly obvious, my dear.”_

Maybe Sans was truly sick in the head now, but Clarence's definition of virginity struck him as more comical than horrific. By the bunny's standards, it was practically cute.

Clarence stepped around Sans to stand behind him. “As my first act of responsibility: a word to the wise.” He planted his chin on Sans' shoulder and tilted Sans' chin so his line of sight was raised to the ceiling. There was a barely perceptible reflection of a lens that Sans wouldn't have spotted if he hadn't been made to look. “Smile for the cameras.”

So the lighting scheme didn't only disguise unsightly stains. Without the tell-tale red lights, the cameras were hardly visible at all. Sans had thought that maybe the cameras were only in the living quarters, but it looked like surveillance was a little more extensive than that here.

Sans wasn't sure why he expected Clarence to answer his question—maybe it was because the bunny had spoken his last line in a conspiratorial whisper. Sans couldn't help but follow suit.

“Are there blind spots? Is there a way to avoid being on camera?”

“Most of the corners are blind if you're flush against the wall. But you'll find you'll want the opposite, actually. I would recommend staying in sight of the cameras as much as possible.”

“Why's that?”

“So Muffet can protect you.”

Clarence straightened up and walked back in front of Sans, then brushed the shoulders of Sans' suit and smoothed them out. He set his arms akimbo and looked Sans up and down.

“Yes, close enough for government work, and I know a thing or two about that. Do call if you ever need me, my dear. Muffet has my number. I'll be here for you in less than a heart beat.”

Oh yes. Sans would be sure to call as soon as he needed to be stabbed right in the soul.

The bunny gave a fond wave goodbye and started to strut out of the hall. Before he went around the corner, though, he halted.

“Oh, that's right.”

This was it. He'd remembered that he was the worst, and he was going to shock Sans just for fun, maybe take something unpleasant out of his coat and stick it in Sans' soul. Something you could never expect, like a toothbrush or a balloon. Ooh, a balloon would probably be pretty bad. Sans braced himself. Clarence looked over his shoulder.

“Cave canem.”

“Right. Uh, you too. What the fuck does that mean?”

“'Beware of dog,' you delightfully uncultured swine. I gather they have some grudge with you, and seeing as tonight isn't a private affair, you can afford to keep your distance.”

“I thought that was your thing. Bad things happening to me. What do you care?”

Clarence wrinkled his nose.

“They're gross. I _despise_ gross monsters getting what they want.” He looked as though he'd only just thought of something. “And your well-being. Yes. Looking out for you, of course. Best of luck.”

And with that he left.

The dogs were here. Sans leaned against the wall. He looked up at the reflection of the camera, apparently no longer capturing footage of him from this angle. Could he stay here in the blind spot all night?

“Sans! Come along, over here.”

Muffet was at the door to the lounge, opening it up from the inside. Sans shuffled resignedly over to her. When he reached her, she fixed his tie again.

“Not a hanover, dear, a windsor.”

Sans considered revealing that Clarence had tied it wrong, but decided against it.

Muffet's hands fixed more imperfections with his clothes as she spoke. It seemed Sans hadn't put a single thing on right, down to the minute folds. Or having too many arms just made you compulsively touchy.

“Now, they're not allowed to touch you. We're just showing off your cute little face, isn't that right?”

Muffet held Sans' cheeks in two hands while her other hands kept working. With his face trapped looking her in the eye, Sans didn't bother schooling his expression. He looked miserably up at her.

“Ooh, there really is something about how tiny you are. So darling.”

Muffet fixed a small pin to Sans' lapel. It was a tuna sushi.

“...the hell is this?”

“Don't worry about it, dearie.”

Muffet stepped behind him and pushed him forward.

“Grab a tray of drinks from the bar and take it to the table number written on it.”

Sans stepped forward shakily.

“Hold it with only one hand!”

Lounge B, presumably named because it was one of several in the complex, was a plush, open room lined with soft booths. There was a bar right in the middle with a wall going up to the ceiling, blocking the view of the other side of the lounge. Sans went behind the counter to look for his tray.

The room was full and busy, all the booths taken and workers either hanging around them or bustling about with trays. Sans recognized most of the workers as the ones he'd seen in the cafeteria. He supposed there was a regular group he'd see in this part of Red City.

Sans spent a little longer than he needed futzing around the bar so he could take in some details about the room. He was fairly sure he'd spotted all the cameras on this side of the room. When other workers passed closer by, he saw that they also had pins on their chests, but none of them had the same pin as him. One worker stopped in front of him on the other side of the counter.

“How long are you gonna take over here? There's only one tray left. You were late.”

Sans looked over to the now fairly obvious tray with a bottle and several glasses on it, sitting alone and a few feet from where he was acting out his sham of a search.

“Uh. Yeah. Be right over.”

The monster gave an annoyed huff and didn't leave.

“They're getting impatient, and you've left the rest of us to deal with their table. There's a reason that tray always gets picked last. Hurry up.”

Sans took up the tray with both hands, then remembered what Muffet said. He balanced it on one, and it wobbled. What the fuck were you supposed to do with your other hand?

“Come on!”

“Leave me the fuck alone, asshole! Who made you king of the whores?”

At Sans' outburst, one of the glasses slipped off his tray and smashed on the floor. The monster glared daggers at him. Sans shrugged.

“...whelp, guess I gotta sweep this up—”

The monster slammed a new glass on Sans' tray and shoved him away.

“Lucky me, I get to clean up after you. Just go!”

Sans went around the bar to the other side of the room where the table number matched the number on his tray. His tray wobbled again, and he caught it with both hands to stop everything from sliding off it.

Dogs. All the dogs were at his table. Well, now he knew where they went on weekends.

Sans kept holding the tray with both hands like a kid in a school lunchroom, and he made himself walk forward. The dogs were all looking at him.

Sans rested the tray on the table. He stood there hunched over it, not looking up. Lesser Dog got up from his seat and stood behind him.

“Hey Sansy, aren't you going to serve us?”

Sans picked up the bottle and tipped it over the first glass.

“So you finally finished puppy school. Learn anything good?”

Sans couldn't get any words out, but he wasn't sure he would have forced himself to respond even if he could. He continued pouring the drinks. Lesser Dog leaned over him and eyed the pin on his chest.

“Heh. Figures.”

What the fuck did the sushi mean.

“Man, you reek. Pretty perfume can't hide the stink of fear, am I right?”

Sans felt Lesser Dog sniff his neck.

“Oops. It's okay, that'll be mine.”

Sans had missed pouring a large portion of the drink into one of the glasses, and liquid slopped over onto the tray and the table.

“Sit.”

Lesser Dog gestured to the seat he'd vacated. Dogamy scooted further into the booth. Sans hesitantly slid into the booth, and Lesser Dog sat after him, closing him in.

“That's a good doggy.”

The dogs grabbed their drinks and kept talking and laughing with each other, unperturbed by the sticky spill of alcohol. Dogamy was to Sans' right and Dogaressa sat across from him next to Doggo. Lesser Dog was to Sans' left, so where was—

Something warm and wet touched Sans' ankle. He nearly leapt up onto the table. Greater Dog had somehow fit himself under the table entirely, and he gave Sans' leg another lick seemingly just to confirm that was what he'd felt. All the dogs erupted in great barking laughs. Sans couldn't move his leg away. He just sat stiffly gripping the edge of the seat, shuddering and whimpering.

“Aw, are you gonna cry? Go on, we're all friends here.”

“Have a drink with us. You can drink from mine, it's mostly spit now.”

Lesser Dog leaned down to whisper to Sans.

“You know, you can pull your pants down and let Greater Dog give you a freebie right here. Maybe getting eaten out will finally loosen you up.”

“Heyyy, handsomes. Need some more to drink already?”

“Shyren! What are you doing over here, gorgeous? Aren't you the entertainment tonight?”

A tall, seahorse-like monster was leaning over the table, setting out more shot glasses with her fins.

“Didn't you hear that awful CD start up? You really think that's me? I'm on break, and I thought I'd visit my favorite customers.”

“I bet you say that to all the dogs.”

Sans heard a quiet “psst” from above him. He looked up to see Cecil the mouse, entire small body bent over the top of the booth and reaching their hands out. Sans took the hands and was pulled up and over. Dogamy looked up.

“Hey!”

Cecil stuck their tongue out and gave him the middle finger. “Yeah? Take him from me.”

The dog snorted.

“Thought so. No freebies, y'mangy cheapskates.”

Cecil hopped down from the back of the booth and led Sans away. As they left, Sans heard one of the dogs saying 'Shyren, why you gotta play us like that?' and the seahorse monster giving a delicate giggle. The mouse drove the two of them through the crowd, leading Sans by the hand.

“Come on, I've got a table for you.”

When they were a bit further away, the mouse stopped and turned to Sans. They took a handkerchief out and wiped all over Sans' face.

“That's better. All good? You're all good. Let's go.”

Before they went further, a monster stepped in front of them. It had devil horns and a cape, draped over it in such a way that it was hard to distinguish if its face was its face or a mask. It made it look like some kind of Halloween scarecrow.

“Oh my, how are we doing here?”

The monster bent over and straightened Sans' suit jacket out, a finger lingering on the pin on his lapel. Cecil swatted the monster's hand away.

“No touching.”

The devil horned monster released the jacket immediately.

“I'm terribly sorry. You seemed distressed, was all.” He leaned over Sans. A sympathetic voice came out of the mask or whatever it was. “Are you all right?”

Cecil huffed. “He's fine.”

Cecil took Sans by the arm and pulled him away. Sans saw the scarecrow monster remain in the same place behind them for a moment, looking after them. Then it glided off somewhere.

Sans was taken to a booth in a dark corner, conspicuously occupied by only one monster—an old crocodile with small spectacles balanced at the end of his snout. Most of the booths were packed with customers chatting, but this customer was by himself, quietly nursing a drink.

Cecil pushed Sans up to the seat opposite the crocodile.

“I gotta go. He likes whiskey, sometimes Old Fashioneds. Keep his glass full.”

The mouse scurried off.

Sans tried to collect himself, but too much had happened at once. He gripped the edge of the table for support, shaking hard. He wasn't sure if the next sound out of his mouth would be words or screaming.

The crocodile alternated between sipping the last of his drink and giving Sans a considering look.

“I like a good war story. Do you like a good war story?”

Sans stared at him. He nodded.

“Oh wonderful. I was a field medic back in the war with the humans, you see. Pour me another glass, would you mind terribly..?”

Sans looked over at the tray left on the table. There was a half-full bottle of whiskey on it. The crocodiles' empty glass had an orange rind and a cherry still sitting at the bottom.

“Uh...did you want another...Old Fashioned?”

“You don't know how to make an Old Fashioned, do you.”

“No.”

“There's no need to go back to that nasty bar, little one, I'll take the whiskey neat.”

The crocodile held out his glass and Sans poured whiskey into it. The crocodile didn't comment as Sans' hands shook and spilled a bit of the expensive drink on the table. He sat back with his full glass and let out a papery sigh that sounded like books being flipped through.

“I served under Asgore back when we merely called him a general. King, my scaly ass. Do pardon me. People say times are hard now, but most of them weren't around for the carnage then. And we think other monsters are bad! Humans, let me tell you. You have very nice eyes, has anyone ever told you that? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you.

“But really, one of my favorite stories was a day that wasn't so bad. I'd never seen a monster try to pass off chewed licorice and paprika as a wound before, and I haven't seen it since. He was trying for some medal of honor, wanted me to lie for him, but I suspected he hadn't even seen one battle. A lot of monsters hid out in the caves as we were pushed back in those final fights, hadn't ever seen a human. So this fellow, he kept shouting: 'A human! A human gored me!' I asked how the human did it, and he said: 'with its tusks, obviously!' Oh, you have a lovely laugh, do keep that up, my ego could use it. So the funny thing is, that soldier ended up being promoted. Pour me another, will you?”

When Cecil came back around to their booth, both the crocodile and Sans were fast asleep in their seats.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which Sans discovers the magic of shower head masturbation, along with his inner sleepy old man soul
> 
> Cecil is supposed to be the scarf mouse from Snowdin. I named him Cecil because that seems like a mouse name.
> 
> The old crocodile is creatively named Doc Croc. Alternatively "Dr. War Stories." his voice actor is Jeffrey Combs
> 
> for more silly names and strange gifs, join me on tumblr: http://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/
> 
> just a heads up that if you interact with me you will almost certainly come away with slime in mysterious places
> 
> Next chapter: actual fucking!!


	3. Doesn't do any of the work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you want to request drawings of pairings or specific scenes or anything, come on down to my tumblr, here's the previous batch of requests/idle whims: 
> 
> OnionxSans nsfw: http://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/post/143873159394/oops-i-tripped-and-some-fucking-garbage-spilled
> 
> sfw sansby and...clarencexsans?!: http://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/post/144761945924/thanks-for-coming
> 
> and now for a chapter. with the first sex scene of the fic and far from the last.

“You know, usually the old doctor is the only one to fall asleep to his own stories.”

“I sleep a lot, sue me.”

Sans and Cecil sat in the cafeteria together, munching on breakfast. Cecil made a face when Sans licked the butter off his toast, so Sans spread more butter on it and did it again, because the little mouse was growing on him.

Shyren stopped by their table.

“How are you doing? Things work out last night?”

Sans shrunk from the show of genuine concern. In public, no less. He forgot how to say words like yes and no, so he made his answer by buttering his plate and focusing intensely on chewing a muffin.

“If you eat all carbs, no wonder you're sleepy all the time.”

“Shut the fuck up, twerp.”

So far Red City wasn't as harsh and desolate as Sans had been imagining, at least as far as the other workers were concerned. Quite the opposite from what Sans had seen in the rest of the Underground, it seemed that in order to survive inside the brothel, the monsters there had developed habits of openness and community.

Both of those things threw Sans for a loop, especially when no less than half a dozen monsters on the way to breakfast had asked him personal sexual questions, and hadn't looked like they were making fun of him. After the third 'are you a virgin, will you be okay' and the fourth 'ice it after using the pudding,' Sans had walked to the cafeteria with his hands blocking his face like horse blinders.

Despite feeling unsettled and a little distrustful of the friendly behavior, Sans was comforted that both Shyren and Cecil walked with him out of the cafeteria. Shyren was met by Muffet in the hall. Muffet tried to speak just to her, but Cecil hung around, so Sans did too.

“They want to change it to ten of them tonight.”

Ten of what?

Shyren looked irritated.

“Ten is a lot.”

“I know, dearie. But honestly I think about half of them are only going to watch.”

Ten...ten monsters?

“You _think_? But you don't know. It's a _lot_  for me to—”

Both of them turned to look at Sans when he let out an involuntary noise of distress. Muffet studied his face for a moment, then put on a sweeter tone. Her coddling made him feel even more sick.

“Don't you fret, Sans, no one's going to ask you to do that.”

Cecil snorted at her words, and Muffet threw him an annoyed glare. Sans looked between them.

“That's...a tricky way to put it, considering you're not 'asking' me to do anything at all.”

Muffet waved two of her right arms dismissively.

“No need to be difficult. Nobody's going to want a tuna for a gang bang.”

“No one's going to want...a what, sorry?”

“Don't worry about it, dearie.”

What the fuck did the sushi pin mean.

Muffet took one of Shyren's fins in her hands.

“I'm going to talk with her a bit. Cecil, why don't you take Sans on that tour? He needs to learn where everything is.”

Cecil looked spiteful.

“Yeah...I guess I will.”

As Sans followed the mouse away, he looked back at Muffet. Her head was turned, but he felt her many eyes anyway.

“First stop on the tour is the rest of Living Quarters B, just like Muffet wants me to show you.”

Sans looked forward at the mouse. They were leading him past the workers' sleeping rooms and towards the front entrance to the complex.

“Okay...so why are we heading to the foyer instead?”

Cecil turned around and gave Sans an intense stare.

“We are going on an official tour with _no unusual sidetracks that you would feel the need to mention to Muffet for any reason_.”

“Right, legit, totally above-board tour with nothing remarkable, starting now.”

“Exactly.”

“What's the big secret about the foyer?”

“Well, this isn't really the shadiest part of the tour. Anyone can come in here.”

“That's some disappointing rule-breaking.”

“I just figured I'd show you this first. You may have noticed that Muffet doesn't really like...explaining things. I guess she feels like we can pick this stuff up along the way. But I think it's better to know everything going in.”

Once in the foyer, Cecil went up to the front counter and climbed up onto a tall stool, then directed Sans to do the same. Unlike the deeper rooms of the complex, the foyer was shabby and looked abandoned. Once Sans was up on the stool next to Cecil's, he could see that the counter had menus and a bell for service. He was stupidly tempted to ring the bell. Cecil picked up a menu and laid it out in front of Sans. It was covered in colorful pictures of foods.

“I don't know if you know any of Red City's history. Muffet usually likes to tell at least a bit of it. Before Queen Toriel left, she hated these kinds of places. She banned them, and Asgore didn't fight her on it. Muffet managed to nudge her little establishment under the radar by disguising it as a restaurant at the time. Nowadays Asgore doesn't bother us, but Muffet kept some of the old mystique around...as kind of a cutesy nod to making it through the prostitution dark ages, I guess.

“So, we have lounge nights a few evenings a week. It's cheaper than buying a session with a worker, so we get a lot of customers those nights that we don't ever actually end up with as private clients.

“But it's really meant as a sort of...window shopping for the clients to pick out who they want to sleep with later. They're not allowed to touch the workers in the lounge, only look at them, talk to them, you know, get a bit of an idea if they like their personality. Get their egos stroked a little as a bonus.

“There are some things you can't uh. Tell just from looking, so Muffet has a menu system for customers to figure out what they're really looking for. Restaurant theme, you know. Our pins match the uh...the menu.”

“And that means...what?”

“They describe what we're like in bed.”

“Oh.”

Sans bent over the counter and puked onto the tiled floor.

He stayed half-bent on the counter, arms over his head. He heard Cecil leaning over the counter to look.

“I appreciate you missing the carpet.”

Sans gave a wet snort, then coughed and spat some remaining puke out of his mouth.

“How do skeletons even—sorry, not the time.”

“So what does tuna mean.”

“You sure you...uh...”

“I don't have anything left, trust me. The floor got it all.”

Cecil pointed to the picture of tuna sushi on the menu. Underneath it, a description in elegant type read: 'soft and still. Delicate taste.'

“What...the fuck—?”

Cecil pointed to a small asterisk by the description, then flipped to the back of the menu, which was covered in boxes of much smaller, messier hand-written font.

In the tuna box, it said: 'doesn't do any of the work. No initiative. Will do as told, but must be directed. Low energy. Weak and fragile.'

Sans had underestimated the capacity of his stomach, but he kept himself under control.

He had a flashback to a tall monster ordering him to ride a tentacle, and Onion saying he'd expected Sans to be bad at it. Sans felt a little surprised that 'doesn't do any of the work' was already a part of this disgusting menu before he came along. He almost wondered if the tuna label had been invented just for him.

“Does Onion decide what we are?”

“Yeah, when we train with him.”

“So what was that Muffet was saying about...no one asking for me? For a...”

“Theoretically, a big group of monsters and a 'tuna' wouldn't work, because if the worker isn't really, well, working, there would be a bunch of monsters just standing around waiting for a turn. They'd all get bored.”

“Theoretically.”

“Yeah.”

“How about practically?”

Cecil looked to the side.

“We do get a lot of uh...rougher types. Monsters that like to make us suffer. And honestly, giving you a label that says 'I lay there and take it' is like an invitation for the more domineering clients.” The mouse rubbed their arm. They looked up at Sans, and they looked almost jealous. “But as for pain, as for 'gangs'...I gather that's not something you'll have to deal with.”

Oh. Right. 1 HP.

“Do you really think Muffet wouldn't make me do that?”

“Her empathy may be a little lacking, but she's not stupid. Groups of monsters get dangerous, period. Even if they all promise to be 'good,' you have to take their word with a healthy amount of skepticism. Hell, even if they don't think they're lying, their word may not match up with how they act in the moment.”

Cecil slid off the stool.

“Listen, this is uh...this is probably a lot all at once. Let's take a break before I show you the next thing.”

 

Cecil took Sans into a cozy room lined with bookshelves where a few other workers were napping or reading. Cecil went in such a targeted beeline for a chess set that Sans thought it might belong to them.

As they played and Sans started cornering Cecil fairly effectively, Cecil's furious expression telling Sans they weren't letting him win, Sans felt some relief. Compared to everything else that was going on, it had been a rather small worry, but he'd started to think that the oppressive situation had made him permanently stupider and slower. It was nice to see he still had some sharpness at his disposal, at least when he could relax a little more.

After grumbling about filthy cheaters, swearing they weren't talking about him but some other, totally unrelated filthy cheaters they were just remembering now, Cecil took Sans down a hallway for the rest of the tour. They made a turn into a narrow hall and revealed a door that was partially camouflaged into the wall. As Cecil held the door open, they put a finger to their mouth and whispered.

“Here's the room I'm...not supposed to take you to. Don't come in here at any other time, okay? You just need to know it's here.”

Screens covered an entire wall. All monitors taller than a monster's head. And on those screens were monsters in various states of undress, various stages of indignity, and various expressions ranging from blissed out to pitifully pained.

Then Sans saw that there was a monster sitting in front of the huge screens, shifting focus from one to another, toggling an audio feed so that different voices and noises could be heard that appeared to be coming from different rooms to match the videos. The monster at the screens didn't look excited by their peeping, just intense, like a video editor making an appropriate cut with each toggle of the audio, apparently making some meaningful choice each time they switched.

Sans whispered to the mouse.

“Do they know we're visiting?”

“No, but they're in the zone. They're not gonna notice us. They do usually have headphones on, though—that's kind of what I expected, but oh well.”

“What would happen if they caught us looking in?”

“They'd have to report me, and I'd get sent back to Onion again.”

Cecil slowly and softly shut the door, and led Sans to quietly sneak away down the hall. They stopped in an unoccupied area, and Sans noticed that Cecil was leaning against the wall in the blind spot of the closest camera. Sans followed suit.

“They're just a worker like us. Muffet watches some herself when she can, and she has security, but that's just one of those kinds of rooms in Red City. It's not even the only one in the B section. That room used to be my job, or my side job at least, before she put me on probation.”

Sans stared at the little monster.

“They're there to make sure the workers don't get hurt, right? Or hurt too bad. But Muffet has a different idea about what that means than I do. I let too many out easy, and I pissed off too many blue-balled customers. And, well...you saw how that stunt turned out for me.”

“So...when you were in the cage in Waterfall...”

The mouse looked down at the floor.

“Ha. Exposure therapy. They figured if I went back to square one and saw a training session, I'd get used to the way things are again.”

They looked back up, their eyes full of intensity. A kind of raw power you wouldn't expect to fit into such a small package.

“Joke's on her. She's going to let me back at the monitors eventually because I know all the equipment so well. And then I'm just going to do the same damn thing again.”

Sans didn't know what to say to that. He felt like the comic relief witnessing the protagonist's journey from the sidelines.

Cecil looked at their watch.

“We gotta go in for lunch. I'll show you the normal stuff after. Or I won't, you'll see it all eventually, hell. Tours are fricking boring if you're not sneaking around.”

Sans decided that the mouse was definitely growing on him.

They looked sideways at him.

“Oh...one last thing about this while I'm thinking about it. Don't try to open the doors when you're in there with a client. They're locked with a magic signature, and Muffet gets really mad at you if she catches you at it. She doesn't want us talking to the cameras at all, either. You get...sent back to Onion for that, too.”

Sans tried not to picture the tiny monster clawing at a door, pleading with a camera to let them out of a room they didn't want to be in, but it was too late. He tried to replace the image as quickly as possible with their indignant expression by responding to their heartfelt revelations and advice with a long raspberry blown into the heel of his hand.

 

As Cecil was dutifully showing Sans one of the empty private rooms meant for entertaining clients, pointing out the locking mechanism on the door and cautioning him not to close it when the room wasn't being used, Muffet came in and touched Sans on the shoulder.

“I'm going to talk to Sans now, Cecil. You go on.”

The mouse gave Sans a wave and Muffet a calculating glance before leaving them. Being alone with Muffet in a plush room that two or more monsters would be having sex in within the hour made Sans suddenly feel very insecure. Muffet wasn't doing anything intimidating, but Sans shivered anyway. Her touch on his shoulder was so light he could barely feel it. For some reason that bothered him even more.

_Will do as told, but must be directed. Weak and fragile._

“Don't...treat me like I'm made of fucking glass, jesus.”

Sans boldly shrugged away from her hand. Muffet didn't move to touch him again.

“It's showtime tonight, dearie. Your first client.”

The floor dropped a few inches.

“You don't have to worry about anything. I always personally watch over the first session with new workers.”

From what Sans understood, being under Muffet's watch for this wasn't the optimal situation.

“I'll make sure things go smoothly, but honestly, I've talked to this client and you don't have anything you need to concern yourself over with him. He'll be gentle with you.”

Muffet stood at the door and waited for Sans to walk through it. He did so slowly, forcing every step.

“I picked out an outfit for you again; it's folded on your bed. I'll show you to the room once you're dressed. Just do everything he says, he won't ask anything impossible, I promise. Be good and do your best and you'll be fine. All right, sweetie?”

Sans allowed himself the small rebellion of not answering her. He didn't look behind him to check if she was annoyed as he marched back to his room.

 

 

Sans stood frozen in front of the door to the private room. He had a tray with drinks—apparently they weren't exclusively for lounge nights. Most customers, if they didn't want to get down to business right away, ordered some drinks to be taken and served to them beforehand. To loosen up, maybe.

It sounded like a terrible idea to Sans. It was more time for it to sink in what he was doing, more time to treat these clients like they were monsters he wanted to be around, too much time to try to pretend he liked their presence and wanted anything to do with them.

Sans opened the door with one hand, balancing the tray on the other. He went into the room backwards and heard the door give a click of finality.

When he turned around and saw the other monster sitting on a couch in the corner of the room, he dropped the tray and heard the glassware shatter, the drinks sloshing on the floor. Every joint in his body was freezing up. He leaned back against the door, taking heaving breaths.

This was so stupid. There was nothing particularly scary about the other monster in the room. It was the devil-horned scarecrow monster he'd seen in the lounge. It looked to be only about a head and shoulders taller than Sans, which wasn't all that big for a normal monster, and it didn't have any otherworldly anatomy that Sans could see. It didn't even look especially mean. The face that Sans had taken for a mask made subtle expressions, and when Sans dropped the tray it didn't look angry, just surprised. There were no signals that should have made Sans afraid.

But he was terrified. This was really happening. Before now, he'd been nervous, unsettled, but there was a part of him that didn't fully believe what he saw. Some part of him that thought everyone here was playing pretend, an intricate game of house. Sans had been dressed up like a doll, there were colorful characters like the awkward janitor, the sweet-talking madam, the brave little mouse...the hidden rooms and crazy pudding had been some excessive touches just to add that certain je ne sais quoi, but Sans was ready for the game to be over now. Cue laugh track, close curtain, roll credits.

He was really doing this. He was really being forced to go to this monster on his own two feet and have sex with it, let it treat him however it pleased. Regardless of how threatening the monster looked or didn't, Sans would have to do everything it told him to do. Otherwise he'd be punished. Or Papyrus would be punished. Or maybe they'd tell Papyrus what Sans was doing, and that would be punishment enough for both of them.

Sans slid down into a sitting position on the floor, wrapping his arms around himself. He heard a crunch where his shoes scuffled on glass.

Then there was more crunching. Sans looked up to see the scarecrow monster standing over him, offering him a hand. Sans didn't take it.

The scarecrow hooked an arm under Sans' knees and his other arm supported his shoulder blades. He lifted him up and carried him over to the couch, then lowered him onto it in a reclining position. The scarecrow crawled on top of him, his arms boxing Sans in.

“You don't need to be scared of me. I'll take good care of you.”

_Asshole._

“Muffet told me I was going to be your first customer here. Are you nervous?”

_You asshole._

“She said you had a really bad experience with another client. But I'm not going to hurt you.”

_You fucking asshole._

“I'll make you forget all about that time, all right?”

_You can play knight in shining armor all you want, but you like me like this._

“You're really shaking. Just take it easy. Open your legs for me. That's it. That's good. It's okay.”

_You like me powerless._

“You look so cute right now.”

_You like me scared._

“I'll make you feel really good.”

_I hope I don't come and it makes you feel like you're a limp-dick piece of shit._

The scarecrow dipped a hand into Sans' pants, not removing them yet. He traced a finger down the crest of Sans' hips, then brushed against his tailbone. He thumbed the pubic bone.

“How about you make a little something fun for you and me?”

At least Sans might not have to worry about being forced to come, because he didn't think he'd ever been less turned on in his life, and at this point that was saying something. He considered pretending he didn't know what the monster was referring to, but didn't want this to be drawn out any longer than necessary.

“Could you...move your hand first? It's right in the way.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah. Heh, first time with a skeleton.”

_Your last too, hopefully._

The scarecrow moved his hand away from the pubic bone, pressing up against the crotch of the inside of Sans' pants. When Sans formed his cunt, the hand settled back down to cup it, middle finger stroking between the lips.

A shudder went all the way up Sans' spine. His soul felt like it lost sync with gravity for a moment. Sans hadn't been touched like this since the slug raped him, and the direct touch to his magic sent him spiraling through memories and phantom sensations. A sharp member prodding at him and forcing its way in too fast. Being painfully spread out from the inside. Slime everywhere. An overpowering sour smell mixed with rotten eggs, almost drowning even though he didn't need to breathe, a thick sludge filling his throat and not stopping. Not even stopping when he pleaded for all he was worth.

“Shh, shhh, it's okay, you're okay. I'm not hurting you, see? Shh, shh, shhh.”

He couldn't fall apart this fast. Not in front of this little puke of a monster. But instead of pulling back, the monster was rubbing more insistently at the lips of the cunt. Sans reflexively tried to curl into a protective ball, but since the monster was crouched over him, that meant curling into his chest.

The scarecrow wrapped one arm under Sans' back, clutching Sans to his chest while using his other hand to dip a finger gently into the opening of the cunt. Sans scrabbled his hands against the other monster's chest, then gripped the fabric of its coat.

“Shh. You're being so cute.”

He was being pathetic.

“It's okay, it's okay. No no no, don't cry. Shh.”

The other monster needed to get this over with. It was all taking too long. There was too much time for Sans to remember everything that had been done to his magic before this, and exactly how it all felt.

The monster added another finger, scissoring into him and massaging the inner walls. The magic had started lubricating in reaction, but Sans couldn't relax. He still felt tight, even after another finger was added to tenderly stretch him further. Sans mistook the light scratch of an unclipped nail for the stab of one of the slug's hooks, and he yelped like a hurt animal.

“Shh. There we go. You're going to be all ready for me, see? Nothing's going to hurt this time.”

The monster removed his fingers and laid Sans back down on the couch. He unzipped Sans' pants and pulled them down, then got up on his knees and undid the buttons of his own pants. He pulled his dick out. It had the glow and slight translucency that meant it was also conjured from magic. He was going to put that inside him, it was going to go in him—

The entire inner lining of Sans' pussy felt unbearably itchy. There was an echo of wormy magic melding with it, slithering into him and making a home there. It felt as though some parts of the slug had been left behind, still owned him, wriggled in grotesquely separate bits like the still-scuttling body of a headless cockroach.

Sans scrambled onto his front and tried to scurry away. The scarecrow grabbed him by his waist and flipped him onto his back again.

“I promised I wouldn't hurt you. You can trust me.”

Sans couldn't hold onto his dignity for any longer.

“No, no, no, no, I can't do this, please don't make me do this.”

“Don't cry. Don't cry. It's not going to be the same, I promise.”

“I-it's not about. It's not about pain, it's. I can't do this, I c-can't. Please don't do this to m-me. I'll do anything, please, I'll d-do anything else you w-want.”

“Shh, you're all right. You'll do just fine. There's nothing wrong with this, see?”

“No...no!”

“There, it went in easy, didn't it? Mmm...you're doing good. You're doing really good.”

“No please I...please please please, why won't you listen t-to me? Please. Please don't—AH!”

“Shh. Doesn't that feel nice? The way your pussy hugs onto me? You were hurt really bad, but sex is a beautiful connection between monsters. I'm going to show you how to feel good again.”

The scarecrow rut its cock into him by rolling his whole body, his hips bouncing up and down on top of him. Half of the time Sans felt the giant body of a slug writhing around him, cold and suffocating.

“Shh, it's okay it's okay...”

Sans gulped back sobs. “It's not okay! I-it's—hk--nuh-not ok-kayy...”

The other monster swooped its head down to lick and nibble Sans' jaw. Sans fell to pieces under him. He babbled out incomprehensible pleas.

“You're okay. You're so good. It's okay, you can cry, I'm not mad—just let it all out. Ohhh, just...just hold onto me, that's it, hold tight.”

The scarecrow swept its arms under Sans' hips and drove into him faster.

“Wrap your legs around me. Good, good, that's right. I'm gonna come...I'm gonna come inside you, hold on tight to me, yeah...yeah, ohhh fuck. Yeah, let me make you mine. You're gonna be mine. You're being so good.”

Cum shot into Sans in a few hot squirts. The other monster panted heavily and pressed his forehead against Sans'. He moved his hands to Sans' wrists, pressing his thumbs into the palms of Sans' hands and shifting them over his head, pinning them to the cushion beneath. The monster's mouth spread in a mischievous grin.

“Were you that good for that slug?”

Sans squeaked. The monster crushed Sans' mouth with a kiss—or the impression of one. Sans had seen the mouth move, grin, but as it was pressed against him he felt a stiffness that made him even less sure of what the monster's real face was.

The monster reached a hand down to rub Sans' clit as though he were helping him through an orgasm, apparently mistaking the desperate quaking of Sans' lower body as spasms of ecstasy.

“S...stop...”

The monster took its hand away and cooed soothingly in Sans' ear. Sans almost preferred being rubbed raw.

It was over. The monster had finished. But Sans had thought that before, and sure enough, the monster hadn't gotten off of him even though it had pulled out. It was slowly stroking itself over him. Sans let a whimper escape.

“N-no more, please no more, I can't take any m-more, please please please”

The monster leaned close to Sans, and this time a truly wicked grin overtook its face. It kept stroking itself, and its voice came out breathless and rough.

“Keep begging.”

“wh-what...what do...you...”

“ _Keep begging me not to screw you again_.”

He touched Sans' cheek with the back of his free hand.

“And maybe I won't.”

Sans shuddered and choked. “Please.”

The monster pressed its erect dick hard onto Sans' pelvis. Sans felt the phantom crawling sensation again.

“Or maybe I will.”

“Pl-please don't.”

“Maybe you need another hard fuck. Maybe you need to learn a lesson.”

“no no no please”

“You really do want it, don't you? You just need to get skewered a few more times to get you good and desperate for it.”

“No. No. I d-don't want to d-do this, I want to go, please let me g-go”

“I bet if I stick this back in you, you'd change your tune real quick.”

“please no”

“I should talk to Muffet about _keeping you_.”

“No! No!”

“ _Then you could take my cock all night_.”

Sans covered his face with his hands.

“....d....on't....n-not...again pl....ease...oh please...oh g...od oh p-please...please...please...”

The monster over him breathed hard.

“Ohhh...fff...nn. Yeah. Yeah. Ohh.”

Sans felt cum spurt on his cunt, felt in too much detail each drop as it slid stickily down him. The other monster kept stroking and quivering, hips jerking with each release of the hot fluids. His breath was ragged.

“Ha. Heh heh heh...you're adorable. You're so gullible.”

Sans lowered his hands slightly and peeked out at the monster. It kept chuckling, wiping its dick on Sans' leg.

“You really don't know anything about how this place works, do you? I love screwing newbies. 'Keep you.' Ha!”

Sans took his hands away from his face and gripped the cushions underneath him. He squeezed his legs together.

He must have known the monster had just been egging him on. He wasn't an idiot. But once he'd started panicking, all he could think about was the slug raping him again and again, until he passed out, until he'd woken up again, and after that too...

Sans got the idea that the night with the slug had been something of a fluke, that his session would have ended much earlier if Clarence hadn't ditched him. Not that that behavior would have surprised Sans if he were in Muffet's place. So maybe the “mistake” wasn't so unintentional on her part, either.

So even if this monster wasn't actually supposed to keep Sans all night, or...take him home...how could Sans even tell for sure?

The monster nuzzled Sans' neck. It was sickeningly gentle.

“Shh, I was just playing with you, you cute little thing. You did do such a good job of begging for me. I should really finish this up by being nice to you. Let's give you a reward.”

The monster sat back on its haunches. It grabbed Sans' knees and spread his legs, pulling Sans' crotch up to its stiff mouth. Then it reached to a fold of fabric around its neck and rolled it up to its nose. The face was some kind of mask after all. And underneath that mask, a toothy, bifurcated jaw opened up and a long tongue flopped out. The tongue looked hollow like a tube, some kind of proboscis, with its own little flat teeth lining the hole at the end.

Sans gasped and tried to back away. The monster held fast to his legs. With the mask off its mouth, its speech came out garbled and raw.

“Just relaxxx, and I'll take care of you, okay?”

Sans gave only a petrified sob in response.

The monster lifted Sans' legs higher up and dipped its head down, its long tongue licking at Sans' clit. Nibbling, somehow—

Sans reached one hand out to the other monster and forced words out of his mouth.

“W-wait, I could—I could d-do you inste...instead! I c-could s-suck you off in...stead...”

The monster looked up at him with its strangely still eyes. What did its eyes look like under that mask?

“That'sss sweet, but my dick'ss tired now. We'll do you.”

This was too much. Sans had hit a wall, mentally and physically drained from being toyed with, from terror gripping his body so completely. Muffet had said this monster would be gentle, and maybe she'd really meant it, despite its eerie appearance.

If Onion's tentacles felt good, then maybe this could feel good, too. Maybe if he could act like he did when he was aroused, he actually would be, and then this wouldn't be the most horrific thing he'd had to endure.

At least he was getting used to feeling like loathsome garbage.

As the tongue lapped up and down the folds of his cunt, Sans found himself calling back the feeling of tentacles stroking him in an attempt to relax himself. He almost wanted to ask the monster to stroke him, to soothe him, but couldn't quite bring himself low enough to get the words out.

He spread his legs open wider and pushed his hips up as the tongue slipped in, encouraging it deeper. He let out a breathy moan like he did when Onion had licked him.

The tongue slowly pushed deep inside. As it went further in, the monster pressed his face against Sans' groin and clamped its jaw down around his pelvis. The sharp teeth didn't hurt him—the jaw was clutching Sans delicately, like a crocodile carrying its eggs in its mouth.

The tongue pumped in and out, and Sans made himself buck his hips. The friction caused a tingle, and Sans experienced the first thing that resembled arousal since he'd entered the room. He closed his eyes and focused on the feeling, taking small hitched breaths that made his cunt contract and built up the pressure inside him.

With his eyes closed, he automatically pictured what aroused him the most, hot shame flushing through him when he realized he was imagining the tongue as tentacles thrusting inside him. Sans supposed that out of his limited sexual experiences so far, sex with Onion had been the most physically satisfying, as terrible as that was.

The tongue pushed at him, drew out enough to rub his clit on the way back in—Onion was teasing him, getting ready to pump into him harder. As the pace picked up, he felt a squeeze on his thighs, a reminder to speak up.

“That f-feels good.”

Thumbs stroked the inside of his thigh bones, and Sans jerked his hips involuntarily this time. The affectionate touch pushed a button he didn't know he had. It stopped too soon. He wanted them to keep stroking him like that, it made him feel like he was doing something right, Onion was much more touchy than this when he did him.

The illusion was fully broken when the tongue's little teeth lightly nipped inside him. Like dull hooks. The wormy, crawling feeling took over. Sans' arousal extinguished, and the movement of the tongue after that made him feel raw and unbearably itchy. The thought of trying to work himself up again, of painstakingly getting himself off by fantasizing about a previous rape, crushed the last of his will.

“please take it out”

The tongue snaked around, pushing at the walls. Worms wriggled wherever it touched. Sans covered his mouth with a hand and hiccoughed, more tears rolling out.

“ _please take it out_ ”

The monster pulled its face away, letting go of Sans' legs. It looked at him.

“I'm not g-going to come.”

It turned to the side and spat on the floor, then rolled its mask down. It looked irritated.

“You could at least fake it, y'little cunt.”

 

 

Muffet was waiting for Sans when he came out. She draped a blanket over him and rubbed his shoulders. He wanted her to hold him, to pet him all over, he didn't want her to touch him.

“He didn't hurt you, did he? It didn't look like he hurt you.”

Sans didn't know how to answer that. When he forced himself to think about it for a second he realized that no, physically the monster hadn't hurt him at all. It was only because of Sans' weakness that the monster had been able to manipulate him so easily.

He hadn't hurt him. He hadn't hurt him at all, it was just sex, but Sans had reacted like he was being tortured. He'd broken down just from gentle touches and words. Shame bloomed inside him again.

“Why d-did you tell him all those things about me. About the s-slug.”

“Because he asked about you.”

Sans supposed that had been a stupid question after all.

 

 

Lounge night again. Sans double-checked, he knew the dogs weren't here tonight, but still better safe than sorry. He made sure he got to the lounge early and grabbed for the tray he knew went to the table with the old crocodile.

A worker that looked like a giant cricket shook his head at him.

“That's cold, taking old Dr. War Stories from Cecil, after they did you a favor the other night.”

Sans looked down at the tray, then back up at the cricket.

“...what...?”

“Well, obviously Cecil had to entertain the dogs since you left your table. But other nights, Cecil always goes to Dr. War Stories, on account of Cecil's not so sturdy anymore. They had a really bad client, haven't been the same since.”

Sans clutched the tray possessively for a moment before letting it clatter back onto the counter. He grabbed another tray and stomped off with it, not bothering to check what table number it was.

He ended up at a table with an already inebriated client who, Sans gathered by his repeated slurred insistence, had a lot of gold. The monster must have gone on a bender through the capital before coming here. He switched sides of the booth to the seat right next to Sans and kept trying to touch him, but in his state didn't seem to know where any particular anatomy was, so Sans didn't fight him too hard. He slapped him away periodically, and the client looked confused every time.

Cecil came over.

“Sans, I have a table for you to—”

“Buzz off, twerp.”

“...what?”

Sans turned to Cecil, at the same time easily restraining the client's wandering hands from touching him.

“Can't you see I'm busy entertaining?”

Cecil looked at a loss. They put a hand up and opened their mouth, then closed it, stood there for a moment, and walked away.

“Yer a sassy little thing, arentchu? Come on, lemme touch you, I could get you off real good. I could buy this whole bar, I could buy you—next week, my nex' big paycheck's next week...”

He somehow successfully put his hands in Sans' pockets, but leaned over to sloppily make out with the booth cushion. Sans dumped the rest of the customer's drink on his head. The customer blinked.

“Damn cheap leaky roofing. Remind me t'get that fixed once I buy thiss place.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/%E3%83%9E%E3%82%B0%E3%83%AD%E5%A5%B3
> 
> In other news, do you like how something that made you guys happy last chapter can now make you sad, too?
> 
> Hi who ordered the sad meal with extra large cup of tears  
> it comes with a boys toy or a girls toy  
> the girls toy is sans crying, and the boys toy is also sans crying because we're not sexist here at McLeech's fine slugburger establishment  
> we're just assholes


	4. Something's crawling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering what the devil-horned monster looked like under that mask, here's what I was picturing: http://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/post/145133357484/underfell-version-of-devil-horns-guy-see-his
> 
> Come join me on tumblr for other details you didn't want to see, and much much more!!
> 
> And now for a chapter.

The next day at breakfast, Sans avoided Cecil entirely. It would be better for both of them if they didn't get too friendly. Sans would have to be dead not to appreciate that the mouse had helped him, but the thought of another weak monster suffering in his place made his soul churn. Sans wasn't worthy of that kind of sacrifice.

To prolong the time before he would have to decide where he would eat his food, Sans stared down the pudding cups at the end of the line.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Muffet was behind him.

“Do you want to try it, Sans?”

“Not...really.”

He wasn't sure if he had a choice. He definitely couldn't make it through if he was going to react like he did last night every time. Maybe living out this life in a drugged up haze wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he could come to enjoy it.

But even when he'd overdosed so bad on the drug that the walls were spewing psychedelic fish at him, he'd been aware enough to not want to touch himself. Maybe there wasn't a magic solution, so to speak, for everything that was wrong with him.

Muffet gave Sans a considering look. She took a pudding cup and placed it on Sans' tray with an air of finality, showing Sans an encouraging smile.

“This one's for you today.”

Sans had never felt so wary of pudding before.

 

Before letting Sans eat any of the pudding, Muffet took it and him to a private room. She'd allowed him to change into some of his old clothes, to put him more at ease, she said. She directed Sans to a comfortable chair and waited for him to sit down.

Immediately after sitting down, Sans wanted to get back up. He didn't want to get fucked again already, which was where this looked like it was going. Or maybe Muffet was just going to watch him lose himself to a torturous arousal that he couldn't and wouldn't want to do anything about. He wasn't sure which would be worse. He fidgeted in the chair.

Muffet got down on her many knees and put her hands on the arms of the chair.

“Now Sans. I know you didn't choose to be here, but it's really nothing to make such a fuss about. This is just a regular job. A lot of monsters do it. They do work that's much more difficult than what you'll have to do, and they do it without complaint.”

Was this supposed to make him feel better, or make him feel more like garbage? He was too pitiful to do what the lowliest whore could do easily. Muffet put a hand on Sans' knee.

“Don't fret, dear. You're going to be fine. This won't be hard at all.”

Sans had a ridiculous notion of trying to explain to Muffet how scared he was. How fear smothered him in every waking moment, and in sleeping ones, too. How it felt like a physical weight that made it impossible to move quickly or interact with anyone normally.

But those weren't things you talked about, not even outside of Red City. Who would take you seriously if you let yourself fall this far without feeling real pain even once in your life? Just the fact that Sans was still alive, that his 1 HP remained untouched, was proof that all of this was something any other monster could have handled.

“I'm a little concerned about your reaction the first time you took this on accident, so I'm going to test the dosage on you. I think your low tolerance might have something to do with your 1 HP...anyway, I'll be monitoring you carefully. You're not going to see any clients today, so go ahead and relax.”

Despite himself, Sans did relax at that just a bit. Muffet stood up and pulled on six pairs of pink latex gloves with fancy latex frills in lace-like patterns. Sans wondered where you got accessories like that in the Underground.

“You're a little shy of sex, aren't you?”

Sans was no longer relaxed.

“Before we try the drug, I want to see your normal reaction. I'm going to put a hand on you over your clothes. Just breathe deeply, dear.”

Muffet touched one hand to Sans' crotch over his pants. Sans went rigid. The hand didn't rub or stroke, and it barely stayed there for ten seconds.

“Are you okay?”

Was she joking? Did she think he was that weak? Sans spoke through gritted teeth.

“I'm fine.”

“Now I'm going to touch your magic. Make a pussy, please.”

Sans gathered his magic at his groin. Muffet reached into his pants and slid a gloved finger delicately up the lips of the pussy. Sans didn't want to think he was this fucked up, but just the light touch was enough to stir the itching, wormy feeling. Sans shook and drew his knees inward. Muffet drew the hand out of his pants.

“That's enough of that.” She used another hand to rub Sans' back. “Deep breaths, take deep breaths honey. Go ahead and dispel if you want to.”

Sans immediately let his pussy disappear into nothing, relieved by its absence. Muffet moved away from him and picked up the pudding cup and a measuring spoon she'd laid out.

“This should help sort you out a bit. I need you to be direct with me about how this makes you feel so I can change the mixture if it doesn't work right on you. And tell me if it makes you nauseous.”

Muffet measured out a very exact amount of pudding on a teaspoon, scraping excess off the top. Despite the circumstances, Sans couldn't help feeling the tiniest bit insulted. He knew a full cup of the stuff had been too much, but he was sure he wasn't _that_ much of a light-weight.

She fed him the teaspoonful, then started fishing around her pockets.

“Feel anything yet, honey?”

“Uh...I think the dosage was too low.”

Muffet finally seemed to find the right pocket and took out a small tube from it.

“I don't think so, dear, you're very small. Give me just a moment, and let me know if you start to feel something. And no need to be embarrassed, I've seen it all.”

She squeezed the tube's contents onto her gloved hands, spreading lubricant thickly over all her fingers. Watching the deliberate movements of the long fingers sliding over each other, the clear goop slipping around with audible squelching, made Sans feel heat and magic gather in his groin. There was no way a teaspoon was enough to do anything, but to feel slick fingers inside him, spreading him, rubbing against his clit—

“Dear, you're blushing. Please be honest with me. I'm not trying to shame you.”

Sans pressed his legs together and hid his face in his hands, groaning. “Nooo, no, no, nope. Nothing happening. Nothing at all.” He hadn't even formed his cunt again on purpose, why was it there already? Why did it already have to be dripping wet?

Muffet walked up to him and touched his wrist with a wet glove, but made no move to pry his hands from his face. Sans heard her voice near him. Her tone was gentle.

“You realize if you try to lie to me about the dosage, you'd just end up with an overdose later? Lucky for you I've been around the block once or twice. Just don't be so silly, all right sweetie?”

“....it's working.”

“Yes it is, dear. Now I'm going to start touching you again, all right? I won't hurt you.”

Muffet pulled Sans' shorts down, and Sans complied. She grabbed one of his thigh bones in one hand, pushing it up against his torso. Another hand stroked the folds of his cunt, then spread the lips slightly open, and a third hand touched a finger to the opening. Sans shuddered in anticipation. An unoccupied hand rubbed his cheek.

One finger entered him almost unnecessarily slowly. Even without the lube, he was too wet for it to hurt. Sans felt himself being checked.

“Need a little more?”

A thought occurred to Sans—was the reason Onion always seemed to know certain things about Sans' mood, his physical state, because he had been using checking in some unusual way? Sans had never thought to use it to find out more than a monster's HP.

Sans tried covertly checking Muffet.

* _Muffet. More hands than anyone needs, but always finds a use for all of them. Has leaned so far into the curve, she's long since forgotten that what she does for a living is awful._

That explained some things.

Muffet squeaked. “Ooh! Don't be fresh, dearie.” She tapped one palm lightly on the side of Sans' face.

The finger in Sans dipped in and out of him, hooking around to push at a sensitive spot inside. Sans found himself relaxing and spreading his legs wider without any prompting. Another finger entered him, followed by a third, all of them playing him like a piano.

Sans leaned back into the chair and let out a breathy sigh.

“That's it, sweetie. Just enjoy yourself.”

It _was_ pretty nice. Maybe this was close to how normal monsters felt like when they did it, and all it had taken was coercion and a sex drug to loosen Sans up.

Some of Muffet's hands reached under Sans' clothes and brushed his ribs, his spine, his hips. He wanted so badly to ask for more. He didn't know what on earth was stopping him. He was already literally a whore, officially now with his first client under his belt. There was no way his mysteriously stubborn reserves of pride mattered anymore, but it seemed that asking to be pet was still just beyond the pale.

Muffet pulled her hand out. Sans made a noise of protest.

“There now, dear, be patient.”

She used two hands to spread him open, one to thumb his clit, and yet another hand thrust into him with two fingers. At the rougher handling, Sans felt a climax building up.

“Do you feel all right, Sans? Not nervous anymore? Everything working right?”

Sans wished she wouldn't ask questions with such complicated answers when he was so close. He just wanted her to make him come, to feel release, for the fingers to keep moving like this and not stop. He moaned, and Muffet appeared to take that as his response. She concentrated on moving her fingers over him, inside him.

Hands pet his spine and legs in heavy strokes, and that did it.

Sans jolted on the hand still thrusting into him, and the hand slowed down, giving a few more hard jabs. Sans squeezed his thighs together, as though holding onto the feeling.

“Good, that's a good job. This is very encouraging, Sans. Now let's see...I want to test your endurance, too.”

Sans gave a start. The fingers were still in him. Why were they still in him.

“What do you...mean by that?”

Muffet looked him in the eye. Her expression was bright and warm.

“This is a very powerful magic drug, dear, and we shouldn't waste. I want to see how much I can make you come when you're on it.”

That sounded nice enough. Who didn't like to come? But Sans felt done, and the prospect of more couldn't become appealing to him.

The fingers worked up a fast rhythm inside him again. Sans submitted, spreading his legs back out, letting the heat build back up and the tightness come back. He was already going to come again. A thumb rubbed his clit in circles, and Sans felt the very edge of sweetness return, tingling collecting at his inner thighs. Just one more hard press on his clit was enough to relieve him. Everything uncoiled and pleasure flushed through his body.

But something else came back too. As the fingers worked into him, worms wriggled out to meet them, and the flush of pleasure came with a slithering in the very deepest parts of him. He itched. Sans came with a cry then immediately curled into a ball. Muffet's fingers remained buried in him as his head tucked into the crook of her arm.

Muffet sounded concerned.

“You know, you can ask me to stop if this is hurting you.”

What? Since when?

“It doesn't hurt. It's...it feels...gross.”

Muffet's head drew back in surprise. “.... _gross?_ Gross how?”

“Uh...like it's...slimy. Like something's crawling.”

“Does it feel that way all the time?”

“No, just. Just when it's t-touched.” _Or when I get scared_.

“Hmm. Lie back. I'm going to take a look.”

Muffet crouched and used the hand still in him to feel around. She pulled the hand out and held him open. Another hand took a miniature flashlight out of a pocket and shined it inside. She peered in.

“Onion already rechecked you for problems...it doesn't look like there's anything.”

Onion had checked him? So he _had_ touched Sans, just not while he was awake. He really was a heavy sleeper.

Muffet reached a third hand down somewhere behind her, and when it came back up, the fingers were coated in a sticky webbing.

“It's sterile, dear, don't worry.”

She took her other finger out of Sans and inserted the web-coated one. The itchy feeling came back as the web pressed inside him, sticking and unsticking from the walls.

“...oh.”

“What? What's 'oh'?”

Muffet looked up at Sans with a cheery smile. “How would you like Woshua to clean you up again, dear? That would feel nice, wouldn't it?”

“Fucking hell, Muffet, don't treat me like a baby. What's going on?”

Muffet frowned. “It's completely fixable. There's nothing permanent. Just a good wash with cleaning magic and it's gone, I promise.”

“What, did the scarecrow guy give me sores? You told me you screened clients before—”

Muffet drew her finger out, and a bit of discolored magic was stuck to the webbing. It was writhing around like a worm, dripping out little bits of itself.

“Parasites. From the slug melding with you, I think. They weren't in your soul, but they must have reformed whenever you made—Sans? Are you okay?”

“That wasn't...in my head? Those things were really—”

The world went black.

 

 

Who was moaning like that? They needed to keep it down, or turn off the porn or something, because all Sans wanted to do right now was sleep and keep dreami—

Oh shit. That was him.

Something was gushing hard into his cunt, and it felt amazing. A couple fingers were in his soul, stimulating it so his cunt had formed while he was unconscious. When he showed signs of having woken up, though, the fingers were taken out and the gushing stopped. Woshua drew the hose out of him. Sans tried to get up, but he was being held in place by a thick webbing.

“What the fuck is—!”

“Oh, I'm sorry dearie. I was afraid you might struggle and hurt yourself when you woke up. You've been known to panic just a little.”

Sans stayed still. Not that he had many options. Woshua wiped the nozzle of his hose. He looked at Sans.

“It's not done. Did you want to finish cleaning now?”

Was he really being given a choice? Sans glanced up at Muffet. She smiled at him, but didn't give him instruction. Okay, this was really up to him.

He wanted to say no just to test how it felt. But then again...

“Um.”

“Woshua can clean you later, it's not a problem. Miss Muffet said you might be upset if I tried it while you were awake.”

“Um...”

“It is also acceptable if you want Woshua's services now. I like to clean.”

“Uh, well, kind of, it's just, uh...”

“Oh. It is fine if it makes you climax. Woshua is used to it.”

“Uh...!”

“I am very skilled at inducing orgasms. Also, you are still being stimulated by aphrodisiacs.”

“Okay, okay, fine, do it, just stop talking! Just...stop talking, Woshua.”

“You are sure?”

“For fuck's sake, just do it. Just get this stuff out of me.”

The hose went back in and the spray turned back on. Sans shuddered at the intensity of the spray, the webbing only barely keeping his back from arching an embarrassing amount. Something unpleasant was breaking down inside him, flushing out, leaving only a tight, building heat in its place. And that heat was humiliating, was making his eyes roll up in his head and was coaxing deep, throaty moans from him.

But holy hell this felt good. A potent mixture of relief and pleasure washed over him.

“Gnn....f-fuck...ohhh...”

Woshua glanced at him briefly. He looked annoyed. Sans was past caring. His hips came up to meet the hose, and it obligingly pushed deeper into him. Sans felt the spray hit all the way in the back, felt the last of something clingy disappear and his cunt fill up with nothing but pure, clean water. That final sense of expulsion, of being cleansed, pushed him over the edge.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—!”

Even though the work was done, the hose benevolently ground into him, carrying him through the flood of orgasm. Sans' legs jolted with satisfied tremors.

Then the hose was taken out, and Sans lay back, panting. He was sprayed in the face. Startled, he gave Woshua a perplexed look.

“Your mouth...so dirty.”

And with that, Woshua waddled out of the room, apparently offended.

 

 

Sans hadn't come out of his room since Muffet left him there. Just as he expected, she stopped by again after he'd failed to show up to the cafeteria for lunch, and dinner was approaching. She let herself in and then knocked on his open door. That was the wrong order, but whatever.

“How long are you going to mope like this, Sans?”

“As long as I fucking want.”

“Don't be disobedient, Sans, I'm not in the mood to discipline you. I'm feeling very accomplished today.”

Muffet closed the door behind her and went up to Sans' curled form on the bed. Sans looked at her miserably.

“Those things were...they were in me for...weeks. For weeks.”

“Yes, and we healed you of them.” Muffet waved four of her hands and gave a small 'yayyy.'

Right, he'd been healed of them. With literal magical healing sex, no less.

And it really had worked. Sans no longer felt the crawling sensation at the merest hint that he'd have to engage in sex. Muffet had made sure—she'd pawed at him after the parasites were cleaned, and other than Sans going a little stiff, there was no reaction. But that was part of the problem.

Sans had a realization after his afternoon nap was cut short by a nightmare. It was a familiar one by now—he'd had variations of it ever since the slug. But before, it always came with a very realistic recall of certain feelings. He'd thought that was a part of his trauma, but this time, the feelings had been more dull, less substantial. Which meant that before, when he'd felt things like...the itchiness of the slug's magic melding with him, the worms gushing into him like an ejaculation...excited wriggling...those feelings had all actually been—

Sans didn't think it was possible to feel even more completely violated. And the problem had already been dealt with. As cruel as it was, Sans could see Muffet's point. Moping about it now was not only too late, it was utterly pointless. But telling himself that didn't make him want to get up from bed any more than he did before.

“Well, I'm not going to allow you to wallow in here.”

“Why not? What do you care if I miss dinner. When's the next time I have to see a client?”

“Right now, if I want you to.”

At that, Sans bolted upright.

“You do realize I've been very easy on you? Your client list has been backed up since before you were officially here. If you remember, there were monsters asking for you; that's why I took you in in the first place. Isn't that flattering?”

Sans shuddered in response.

“There now, dear...”

Muffet bent close to him, and Sans almost thought she was moving to embrace him. But when she touched him, she took his arms by the wrists and held them above his head.

“Onion spent a lot of time teaching you what to do, but I think what you really need is to get more comfortable being helpless.”

Sans looked at Muffet in disbelief. Muffet wrapped Sans' wrists up in her sticky webbing.

“W-wait...but. We're still in my room.”

“Yes?”

“We c-can't do that in here.”

Muffet jumped on the bed and hopped easily up onto the ceiling.

“I don't see why not, it's just a room. It doesn't make a difference.”

It did make a difference, but Sans couldn't articulate why. Muffet attached her thread to the ceiling and lowered herself above Sans' head. She grabbed his wrists and tied the threads together, then began pulling in the slack so that Sans was hoisted above the bed, his feet dangling in the air.

Sans took heaving breaths. Muffet crawled down the thread, facing him from her upside-down position.

“I don't...like this.”

“I know, dearie.”

“I d-d-don't wanna do this.”

“Oh, honey.”

 _No one cares what you want._ Right.

Muffet climbed down Sans' body and reached for a leg. She made to tug it upward.

Sans didn't need the parasites crawling inside him to vividly call back being dragged up by his knees.

“N-no no no _no no!_ ”

Muffet dropped Sans' leg in surprise.

“Dear...?”

“D-d-don't...put me upside down, p-please. I'm n-not. I'm not ready.”

Muffet climbed up in reverse. The thread jostled more from Sans' shaking than her movement. She took out a handkerchief and wiped Sans' eyes.

“That's the last request you get, all right dear?”

“oh god why is this h-happening when am I d-done...?”

“Shh, there now, look at me.”

Muffet framed Sans' face with several of her hands.

“Your body doesn't belong to you anymore. It belongs to me.”

Muffet was extremely bad at this comforting business.

She flipped herself down to the floor. Sans' legs were still within her reach. She took one ankle at a time and wrapped webbing around them, securing threads from them to the floor so that Sans was stuck with his arms over his head and his legs spread, with very little give.

“I don't want that to frighten you, Sans. I take good care of my little worker bees. From what I understand, I may be taking better care of you than you've taken care of yourself.”

Muffet climbed the wall and lowered herself from the ceiling again, this time fashioning a little swinging seat of webbing for herself in far less time than that should have taken. She was face to face with Sans again, him bound immobile and her in a delicately spun swing. With her typical frilly outfit on, and the way she wrapped her arms around the threads of her swing, she looked like a Rococo painting.

“Now, what is it that you think is going to happen to you like this?”

If this were a client, Sans would think they were trying to intimidate him, taunting him with the unknown, but that probably wasn't Muffet's intention.

“I-I don't know.”

“You must be picturing something. What is it you're afraid of?”

“I'm not that imaginative. I just...don't like it.”

“Well now. How about we get you liking it a little more?”

Muffet took out a teaspoon with something on it. She brought it close to Sans' mouth, and he immediately turned away.

“No...no! Don't make me take that!”

Muffet grabbed Sans by the chin and held his mouth open with another hand. She shoved the teaspoon in, and Sans didn't bother fighting her off any further. He swallowed.

“That's it. That's it. No more of this fussing.”

She pinched his cheek.

While she waited for the drug to take effect, Muffet played with the fur lining the hood of Sans' snow coat.

“Hm. This really suits you pretty well. I wonder if I can design a suit that matches it better...you've got a brand, after all.”

When her fingers brushed closer to his face as she pet the fur, heat rushed through Sans' cheeks. Reacting to such an innocent touch was somehow more embarrassing than the drug preparing his body for sex. Muffet looked thoughtfully at Sans' glowing face as he tried to pull it back into the hood.

“You're really starved for affection, aren't you? You poor thing.”

Muffet stroked Sans' face more purposefully, rubbing his temples with the tips of her fingers and dancing her hands down to his cheeks, then his jaw. Sans drew in a breath and tried squeezing his legs together, but they were held tight. She'd already seen everything, but he didn't want her to look down in that moment.

She slid her hands down his face and to his shoulders, massaging them, then reached into his collar to brush at his clavicle. Sans' breath hitched. Muffet looked down, just like he knew she would, because he didn't get anything private at all. He didn't get to be turned on by stroking like some kind of sex pet and not have it remarked on. Not even Onion and his insistence on Sans announcing his orgasms had made him feel this exposed.

Muffet looked Sans in the eye, her expression fond, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

“You know, if you opened your mind up a bit more, you might see that this place isn't so bad for you. It's certainly the only place you can admit you need to be touched, and get what you want.”

She dipped another pair of hands into his pants and rubbed up and down his thighs. Her kneading fingers made his legs twitch, only to meet the resistance of the spider thread. He wanted those fingers to knead just a little higher, right where the thighs met the pelvis, just a little more...

“Do you want me to finger you, Sans?”

“...no, I...I d-don't want...I don't...”

Muffet used another hand to run a finger up the lips of Sans' pussy through the fabric of his shorts. She drew it slightly away, a dripping thread of juices trailing from the finger to his crotch. Muffet giggled. A sticky wet spot had been steadily collecting at the crotch of his shorts.

“Did you make it already?”

Sans wasn't sure if she was asking if he'd made his pussy or if he'd come in his pants. He gave another shot at burying his face in the fur of his hood, but Muffet still had a clear enough view of him.

“I didn't...form it on purpose.”

A hand flew to Muffet's mouth in genuine surprise.

“You couldn't even control it? Oh Sans, that's perfect. If only you could do something that cute and spontaneous on command.”

Sans muttered. “Then it wouldn't be spontaneous.”

“Don't be cheeky.” Muffet leaned back in her swing and looked Sans up and down. “Which reminds me, there's something missing.”

She leaned towards him again.

“We could do without your attitude, couldn't we?”

Muffet coated one of her hands in webbing and brought it close to Sans' face. To his mouth. Sans whipped his head away.

“No! I...I mean. I won't. I won't say stuff like that, I'm s-sorry. Don't cover my mouth.”

“Oh Sans, I was just teasing you. This isn't a punishment.”

How could this not be a punishment? Muffet's voice buzzed from somewhere far away as Sans took in sharp breaths. She was spouting some bullshit about how being helpless could make you feel free, free of care or responsibility, and maybe that kind of thing worked if this was something you wanted to do. But Sans didn't know what was going to happen to him once he couldn't move or speak, couldn't breathe—not that he needed to, but when he couldn't it made him panic.

Muffet's hand came up to cover his mouth again, and Sans felt the same terror he experienced back when Onion first told him he wasn't allowed to ask him to stop. Sans jerked his head to the side.

“No no Muffet don't do it, please don't do it, I can't handle that, I can't—”

“Sans, behave yourself! Hold still!”

“No I'm d-done, I'm done, I w-wanna be done—”

Sans' face was jolted to the side and his cheek stung. It took him a full second to realize that Muffet had slapped him. He kept his face looking away from her, gaze unfocused from shock.

Sans felt Muffet check him.

_Well that's useless. If I'm not dead, that tells you all you need to know._

Sans was just on the edge of dissolving into a self-pitying mess, but that would only get him in more trouble, so he did his best to hold it back. The only way to make this stop was to give in, and then eventually it would be over. He might even have to convince Muffet he was enjoying it if he didn't want her to surprise him like this again later.

At least the drug made that a little easier. Although he'd kind of thought that along with turning him on, it would make him more relaxed than this. It didn't dull his other feelings, just made him insatiably needy on top of them, which resulted in a fairly confusing mix to go with his panics.

Sans took a deep breath and tried looking Muffet in the eye. He gave that up, looking down like an admonished child.

“Okay. Okay, I'm...good. I'm holding s-still.”

Muffet cupped his face in one hand.

“No no, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper. You're very tired, aren't you? It's been a long day.” She brought her face close to his and spoke softly. “Hush now. It's going to be all right. Just a little more today.”

She swiped the webbing over his mouth, and his jaw was locked shut.

Muffet took something out of a pocket—a small pink vibrating egg with a controller attached by a cord. The number of sex-related objects in her pockets rivaled Clarence's pockets full of torture items. It was no wonder he seemed to consider her enemy number one.

She pressed the button at the end of the cord, and the egg began to shake. She rolled it over Sans' sealed mouth. Sans gave a muffled whine.

Muffet dragged the egg over his body, from his mouth to his chest, to his pelvis. She rubbed it on the wet spot over his shorts. His legs tried to jerk again.

The egg was slipped into his shorts, and Muffet let go of it completely, holding onto the button at the end of the cord. The egg settled in a very unsatisfying position, barely grazing him as it shuddered.

Muffet turned up the vibration speed, and then the teasing was even more unbearable. The drug made everything hot, everything sensitive, yearning for a firm touch. If she wasn't even going to make the egg touch him, she may as well blow on him and hope for an orgasm. Sans' whines were more insistent.

“Shh, shh, anticipation just makes it feel better, doesn't it?”

Muffet pressed a hand against Sans' crotch, grinding the egg against him. Sans' whines turned into stifled moans.

“There, I'm sure you're feeling pretty good now, aren't you?”

Muffet put a hand down his shorts and grabbed the egg, circling it around his clit, then pushing against it. Sans' hips shuddered and animalistic noises rumbled in his throat. Muffet tenderly brushed his face.

“I'll bet you feel awfully silly, putting up that whole fight.”

The egg was slipped down from his clit to the opening of his cunt. It stayed there, tickling the opening. Then it was pulled away.

“Mmf!”

“Easy, easy. We're changing positions, that's all.”

Muffet grabbed both of Sans' legs and snapped off the webs holding them out. She removed his shorts and pushed his legs up so his knees bent near the level of his shoulders. Then she secured him with more webs so that he was stuck midair in a crouched position, his legs spread open and his pussy fully on display. Muffet looked down at it.

“Maybe I should get you some nice panties, too. It would make things like this a lot more fun.”

She rubbed the egg against him again, and without the webs securing his legs to the floor, his shuddering made him sway. He thought he heard the drip of his fluids onto the floor. Muffet looked up at the web holding his arms up.

“That probably isn't comfortable.”

She adjusted the height of her own swing and supported Sans in her lap, relieving the strain on his shoulders. Then she slipped the egg inside him and turned the vibration all the way up.

“Mm!”

Muffet used all her unoccupied hands to stroke Sans under his clothes as the vibrations brought him closer to climax.

“You make some cute faces like this. Maybe I should send you in to all your clients with your mouth covered.”

“Mn...mmg!”

“ _I_ have a cute face? Oh, you do go on, you flatterer you.”

Fuck you, Muffet.

Muffet pressed on his clit with a thumb and turned the vibration back and forth from a weaker setting to the strongest. Sans was only grateful for the webbing covering his mouth when it dulled the sounds he made as he came. He felt a puddle collecting underneath where he sat on Muffet's lap.

Muffet looked pleased.

“You didn't do too badly. Do you want me to make you come again, wear out some more of the drug's effects?”

Sans wanted to play this cool, avoid getting more training with Muffet later, but he couldn't disguise the pitiful tone of the noise he managed to push from his throat.

“All right, all right, we're done.”

She pet Sans' head.

“We're done for today. You get to rest now.”

 

 

When Muffet finally let Sans down, undid his bindings, let him off for the evening, he didn't want to go onto his bed. He didn't want her to be in his room, he didn't want to be in his room, he needed a different one, there was something wrong with this one.

Sans still couldn't vocalize what was bothering him about his room now, and before he thought of anything the least bit substantial, Muffet had bid him goodnight and closed the door.

On his way to his bed, Sans accidentally stepped in a wet spot on the floor and his whole body went stiff. He mumbled to himself.

“this one's dirty”

He used his jacket as a pillow and slept on the floor on the far side of the room. He dreamt that he yelled at Muffet for covering his room in webs, screamed at her that Woshua would never clean it for him because all the little spiders had moved into the webs. Sans woke up the next morning with frustrated tears still staining his face and an irrational anger at Woshua.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't eggs that the slug gave him, but I hope this chapter made you happy, Steve.


	5. Morning, sunshine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now things start to get a little bad.

Muffet straightened the puffy bow around his lacy collar.

“There. You look precious.”

Sans thought that was a pretty narcissistic comment, considering this was the sort of frou-frou dress that Muffet usually wore. He'd woken up to her standing over him in his room, holding the dress out excitedly and bouncing on her heels. This client's requests had fulfilled her need to play dress-up with Sans.

Muffet opened the door.

“In you go.”

The heels were a challenge. At least he didn't have drinks to carry this time. He walked carefully into the room and heard the door close behind him.

A tall, serious-looking monster was seated on a high-backed chair. Other than the bed, there wasn't any other seating in the room. The monster was some kind of bat—its big, floppy ears contrasted with the no-nonsense look on its face. The fingers at the end of its leathery wings were steepled under its chin.

“Come here in front of me.”

Sans walked slowly to the middle of the room and stood in front of the bat. The bat raised one finger and swirled it in the air.

“Give us a twirl.”

Sans spun in the dress, praying he wouldn't trip. The laces and ruffles floated up around him. When he came full circle and faced the bat again, its grim expression had brightened with a smile.

“Ah, that's lovely. Can you curtsy?”

“Um. I don't know how.”

“You cross your legs at the ankle, then bend your knees. Go on.”

Sans gave it a try. He'd seen it before, but his legs didn't feel like they could do anything close to that. He put one foot in front of the other, and that was apparently the wrong way to do it. His bent legs ended in an inelegant tangle. The bat laughed at him.

“All right, all right, not the dainty type, are you?” It patted its thigh. “Come sit on my lap.”

Sans stumbled a little as he went up to the bat, trying to preserve the dainty image at the last moment by carefully gathering the skirts of the dress as he sat down. A hand snaked around his waist and pulled him closer.

“Yes, that's good. Just ravishing.” The bat thumbed the fabric of Sans' skirts between its fingers. If this monster liked cute clothes so much, maybe it should just fuck dresses instead of bothering with Sans.

“I have something for you.”

The monster offered Sans a spoonful of pudding. Sans was grateful he'd been given some warning about this client, particularly that he'd have to take the drug.

The client was an old widower who was something of a topic of gossip with the other workers. Everyone thought he was a little odd, but if he had any truly cruel intentions, they had yet to come out.

He always made the same request—his whore was to wear a frilled dress with layered skirts, and should answer to 'dear' and 'darling.' The workers gathered that he was dressing them up to resemble his late wife, but he never made further requests about attitude or playacting.

Rumor had it that he did a long time ago, but then never asked again. Apparently his fantasy was carried out best by visual and memory alone, or he'd ceased to miss his wife as desperately and merely had a fetish for a certain kind of clothing.

With the way the bat was holding the spoon so close to Sans' face, Sans didn't bother to reach out and take the spoon from him. He stuck his tongue out and licked some of the pudding off. He was hesitant to eat all of it—it was definitely more than a teaspoon—but thankfully that didn't seem to be the bat's intent. The bat pulled the spoon away and put the rest in its own mouth.

The way the bat savored the spoon that Sans licked made Sans shiver. The bat looked at him and rubbed a thumb at his waist, then without getting up, took off its coat and put it around Sans.

As the monster secured the coat over Sans' shoulders, it bent its face down to kiss and nip at Sans' neck. Sans could feel the bat's erection poking his thigh through its pants. The attention to his neck wasn't working too badly on Sans either—when the bat adjusted a knee and pushed it gently up between Sans' legs, Sans gave a small gasp and automatically clenched the knee with his thighs.

The bat slipped a hand under the skirts and brushed its long fingers down Sans' thigh to his knee. The kisses trailed up to Sans' chin, and the bat whispered close to his cheek.

“Show me your panties.”

Sans lifted the skirts, but they kept falling down over him. He finally gathered enough of them up to show off the lacy panties Muffet had given him. One of the bat's long fingers rubbed a knuckle into the wet crotch.

“Mm. Good.”

The bat lightly grabbed Sans' chin with one hand, then spread out its other wing in one long motion to throw both their faces in shade and shield them from the room.

“Good.”

As the bat's face closed in on his, Sans had a thought. The wing was also shielding their faces from the watching cameras. Sans swallowed.

The bat drew him into a deep kiss. The wing wrapped further around them, like a cocoon. It was just a kiss. Nothing sneaky and painful, no secret face under a mask that he could tell. The kiss was barely above PG. Something about the shyness of the improvised privacy made it almost romantic. The monster was seducing him.

He couldn't say it wasn't working. If he weren't so afraid, all of this pretense would probably have disgusted him. But some combination of the slow pace, the ridiculous froofiness of the dress, and Sans' relief made him actually start to relax and let the drug work like it was supposed to. He just barely held himself back from rubbing his crotch against the bat's knee. He wasn't sure if that was something someone who wore a dress like this was supposed to do.

Sans breathed in and out steadily and gripped the other monster's arms, his face heating up. The bat brought its arm down and reached between Sans' legs. Sans' breath hitched.

“Lie back, darling.”

Sans leaned backwards and was supported by an outstretched wing. The hand between his legs dipped into his panties, not removing them, and fingered his clit. Sans arched his back.

“How's this?”

Sans couldn't get an answer out. The bat was teasing at the opening of the pussy and still thumbing his clit, making Sans' eyes cross a little. It probably didn't look too elegant, but the bat didn't seem to mind.

Two fingers entered Sans one at a time. Once in him, they alternated pushing in and out, then jabbed into him together. Sans' hips moved with the fingers, little noises of pleasure bubbling out of him.

Before it built up too much, the hand pulled out of him and out of his panties, leaving a cold wetness on the fabric to cool the hot magic. The bat picked Sans up in both arms and carried him over to the bed.

It threw him down on the bed. The landing was soft, but the violent motion flipped a switch in Sans. The bat appeared to take notice as it crawled over him.

“Are you frightened, dear?”

“yes”

Perhaps Sans' reaction to the question was too honest—either the smallness of his voice or the look on his face—because the bat's expression almost looked like real concern. It pulled further away from him.

No no no. He wasn't going to lie here in a frilly dress covered in ribbons, with his panties soaked with arousal and the monster over him actually giving him space and _looking at him_ like this, and then also dare to start—

Dammit.

“Oh no, oh darling, don't cry. There's no need for tears.”

There certainly wasn't.

The bat rubbed its hands up and down Sans' waist. Sans hiccoughed.

“Shh. What's wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Sans shook his head.

“Go on, tell me what's the matter. I don't want to hurt you.”

Sans didn't know what was going to come out of his mouth. The whole story was a little much for him to get out in this state, and it hadn't gone well for him before when a client knew what had happened to him. Maybe a part of the truth was enough, but he still didn't know how he was going to answer as his mouth opened, and the sound he let out was more like wailing than words.

“I d-don't like s-sex!”

“Oh.”

The monster stopped stroking his waist and sat back.

“Oh. Hm.”

A look crossed its face that Sans couldn't read from his position. When the bat came close to him again, reached for him, he cringed with his arms over his face. He was going to be punished one way or another, whether the bat was angry with him or simply more turned on by his reluctance.

Sans felt himself being pulled by the shoulders to rest at the headboard, his head and upper back supported by pillows. When he lowered his arms from his face, he saw the bat monster settled a little ways down the bed from him, where he was lying a moment ago. Far enough away that it couldn't make a quick grab at him anymore.

“By sex, do you mean penetration? You seemed to be enjoying my fingers a moment ago.”

Sans swallowed.

“I took that drug.”

“So did I. Did you not enjoy it?”

“I...” Couldn't it be both yes and no? “...I liked it.”

“You must be uncomfortable by now. Do you want me to relieve you?”

Sans pressed his thighs together under the skirts. Wetness was still seeping through his underwear. His magic pulsed with urgency at even the suggestion of touch.

“What happens...what happens if I say no?”

“You spend the rest of the night in my lap, and I read in bed.”

Sans trembled. The bat put up its hands placatingly.

“Not...not _on_ my—I mean, not...I won't penetrate you if you don't want me to, I promise.”

Sans sat up a little straighter. None of this made sense.

“Are you joking? What did you pay for, then?”

“I paid to spend time with my wife.”

“I don't get it.”

“You're certainly not alone.”

The bat came a little closer.

“Is your answer no, then? I confess I feel a bit guilty having you take that if you're going to suffer through it.”

Sans absentmindedly played with the frills of his dress, trying to figure out where he wanted his eyes to be looking.

“How would you...do it?”

“I can do it any way you'd prefer.”

The bat was much closer now. It was hunched over him again, but he was slightly less afraid.

“Why did you make me take that drug.”

A wing brushed the folds of the dress. Sans quivered, his arousal intensified by the proximity despite the lightness of the touch. He blushed deeply. The bat's expression was apologetic.

“I need it, and I don't like to take it alone. It's selfish, I know. But I only gave you a tiny amount.”

“I'm...small.”

“That's clear enough. I'm sorry.” The wing brushing over the clothes ran over a thigh through the fabric. Some combination of how incidental the touch was, and yet how perfectly sensual, sent tingles running up Sans' spine that were practically magical. Probably were literally magical, come to think of it.

“Okay. Okay. Go ahead.”

“You want me to?”

Sans' response was robotic. “No one cares what I want.”

The bat gave him a funny look.

“I mean. How are you...going to do it?”

“I could use my mouth.”

Sans glanced at the bat fearfully.

“Could you show me your tongue?”

If the monster was confused, it was good at hiding it. It stuck its tongue out. It matched what Sans felt when he kissed him—short and pink, nothing special about it, no hidden horrors.

“Okay.”

The bat carefully lifted Sans' skirts with its wings, then ducked its head under them. Only its behind and part of its back was visible now. The visual reminded Sans of an old-fashioned cameraman.

Sans expected the first thing he'd feel to be his panties being removed, but before the fingers touched him, there was a warm wetness pressing against his crotch through fabric. The tongue was lapping at him through the panties. Sans clenched bedsheets between his fingers and exhaled slowly.

The tongue pulled away. He heard a muffled voice under the skirts.

“Does that feel good?”

“yeah”

The desperation in his tone must have come through, because the tongue pressed against him again with more force. His panties were pulled down and warmth enveloped his clit. The bat was sucking on it. Sans gasped. He fell back into the pillows, his back arching.

The bat licked up the folds, then traced around the opening. Sans thought he would feel the tongue filling him, but it licked up to his clit again, circling it and rubbing at it. The familiar tightness coiling in his loins without the addition of something jamming inside him made Sans relax. He let out a long sigh and pressed himself back into the downy softness, his crotch raising shyly to meet the tongue working at him.

The bat pushed Sans' hips back down to the mattress and shoved its mouth fully against the cunt. The friction sent tremors of pleasure surging through Sans' body.

“Ah-h...ha...ah!”

The bat's fingers were stroking Sans' waist again. The tongue was wholly focused on pleasuring his clit. Sans gripped the headboard. Something was rushing in on him, he was going to get swept away, he was going to entirely lose control.

Hands squeezed his waist tight, the bat sucked hard at him and jabbed its tongue at his clit, tipping him over. Sans writhed over the mouth, each push of the tongue making him more sensitive to the wave crashing through him.

The bat popped its head out from under the dress, in its place slipping its hands beneath the skirts. Sans felt the fingers curling at his groin.

“Do you want me to keep going?”

Sans clamped his mouth shut, but couldn't stop some small, satisfied whimpers from coming out, his body shaking with lust. He nodded.

The fingers brushed over him, then rubbed against him in earnest, pleasuring him quickly into another big wave that made his hips jolt. The bat stroked him until the last aftershocks of his orgasms were spent.

Sans collapsed. The fingers still worked at him when he had nothing else left, and his hips jerked with each excessive twinge. Being stroked past the point of release was almost painful, but in the inexplicable midway point where that only made it sweeter.

“I have something to ask you.”

Sans opened his eyes blearily and tried to meet the bat's gaze. Everything was pleasantly fuzzy.

“I want to come under your skirts. Can I do that?”

Sans nodded. The monster could have said he wanted Sans to eat Onion's entire store of human food, and Sans might have given it a shot. The heavy afterglow was making just about anything sound like an appealing proposition.

The bat pulled Sans up slightly to sit over its lap, still leaning him against the headboard. The bat's wings and lower half disappeared under the ruffles of the dress. Sans saw a lump moving up and down under the fabric with increasing urgency. The bat was doubling over and breathing heavily.

Sans felt heat and a few spurts hitting him under his clothes. The shots of cum started hard and fast, then steadily petered out into light spurts he could barely feel.

“Can I rub against you?”

Sans had to sate his curiosity. He shook his head. The monster started to pull itself out of Sans' clothes.

Without telling them to, Sans' hands reached out and gripped the bat. Sans paused, catching up with his own action, then nodded emphatically. The bat looked at him quizzically.

“Oh...? ...oh!”

It rubbed its cock against Sans' pelvis. The wet friction made Sans shudder. He closed his eyes.

“Do you want me inside you?”

Sans' eyes snapped open. He looked up at the bat with a pleading expression.

“It's okay. It's all right. If you don't want to, I won't. I'm perfectly satisfied.”

Sans gripped the monster's wings.

“You seem to have gone mute. Are you okay?”

Sans didn't know how to answer. He let go of the other monster, and it didn't press him.

“I want to keep rubbing against you. Would that be all right?”

“Y-yeah.”

The monster rut against him for a while longer, eventually spilling more cum over him. Unlike his first client, this time the sticky sensation was strangely satisfying.

Just as he'd said before, the bat ended the session by pulling Sans fully onto its lap and reading as Sans fell asleep. Sans had dreams that the slug wanted to have tea with him, but it wouldn't take no for an answer and insistently pushed at the door even as Sans tried to close it on him. The bat gently shook Sans awake. Sans forgot where he was.

“Our time's up. It's been a lovely evening.”

The bat helped Sans hobble sleepily to the door. There was a click of release, and the bat opened the door for him. One of Muffet's guards greeted them. The bat regarded them as it handed Sans off.

“He makes some truly piteous noises in his sleep. You should see about Muffet getting him to a doctor.”

Then he walked the opposite way down the hall, to the exit.

 

 

Sans spent another meal trying to avoid Cecil, but Shyren sat down next to him, and Cecil soon followed. Sans had thought he was done with things like shame, but he'd never wanted to talk to another monster less.

Maybe the other workers had telepathy, maybe they checked him, or maybe they were just intimately familiar with the look on another worker's face that said 'I was so weak I let myself enjoy it.' Either way, Sans was thankful that the entire meal was silent.

 

 

Sans woke up to a monster holding a hand over his mouth. It took Sans a moment to catch up to reality. Something was very wrong. He was definitely still in his own room—this monster had gotten into the private quarters somehow. He wasn't a client, or he was an overeager one. Sans could hear a wet slapping sound. The monster was jerking off.

The monster breathed into his ear.

“Make yourself a cunt or I'll break you in half.”

Sans concentrated magic between his legs. The monster yanked Sans' shorts down and shoved his dick in without any preparation. Sans gave a muffled cry behind the hand on his mouth.

The monster thrust into him too fast. Sans' lower body hurt too much to kick, but he struggled with his arms to push the monster off. Apparently the monster had more than two arms, because without removing the hand over Sans' mouth, two hands materialized out of the darkness to grasp Sans' wrists and pin them to the bed over Sans' head. Sans couldn't see him well in the dark, but he wondered if the monster was a giant spider like Muffet.

Muffet. Sans looked up in the direction of the camera in the corner of the room. It was too dark to see if the shirt had been taken off it—when he'd gone to bed, it was still there. No one had bothered to uncover it. But if this monster was covering his mouth, maybe it was concerned about noise.

The tracker prevented Sans from summoning dangerous magic like his blasters—or at least not working ones. But maybe he could make the simulacrum of one and pop it. He focused his energy, and the bare bones of a blaster appeared above their heads. It didn't have any fire power, but it still should—

It dispelled with a loud crack.

Time stretched on and the bed continued to creak as the monster pounded into him painfully. Even the monster raping him didn't acknowledge the strange makeshift rescue flare. It just thrust faster, forcing tortured yells out of Sans' throat. It pushed its hand harder over Sans' mouth to dull the sound, but at this point Sans couldn't fathom why. It kept going until Sans' throat was too sore to scream. His diaphragm continued to make the effort, though, and Sans thought his heaving motions might actually make him vomit.

The monster finished inside him with a low, satisfied moan.

Its dick hurt Sans almost as much pulling out as it had going in. The sticky mess of ejaculate that trailed the dick and spilled out after it felt like salt in a wound. Sans choked on a squeaky cry.

The monster over him let go of his hold, freeing up Sans' arms and mouth. He pat Sans on the cheek. Sans was terrified that this was just the start, but instead of seizing the opportunity to bolt, the best he could manage in defense was to throw his arms over his face. The monster laughed at him.

“Done already?”

It hefted Sans' whole body up and brought him down in a low crouch, shoving Sans' face into its crotch. It stroked its dick once and pointed it at Sans' mouth, using more than two hands to push Sans' mouth onto its cock. It had enough free hands, but didn't bother restraining any part of Sans other than his head. Sans had already stopped fighting.

“That's right. Take it.”

The monster moved Sans' head up and down over its cock, rutting up into his mouth at the same time. This time didn't take nearly as long before the monster was spilling into him. The monster looked like it was in ecstasy. Sans looked away from its face.

“A-ahhhh...oh, that's good. Swallow. And lick it up, too.”

Sans gulped in what he could. The hands held him firmly onto the cock until it was spent. Sans obediently licked at it, feeling it pulse from his attentions. He gripped the other monster's legs, hesitating, worried that he would get the monster excited all over again and have to endure more.

The monster held his head insistently at its crotch, but the cock was going flaccid.

“Lick lower.”

Sans bent his head and licked at the base of the shaft from beneath. Something hard poked his chin. He pulled his head back and saw another prong of the dick, growing and hardening underneath the softening prong. Sans yelped and yanked his whole body away, landing on his back. The monster cackled.

“Looks like we're not finished.”

Sans gave another strained yelp from his sore throat and adrenaline moved his aching legs. He almost fell off the bed, but the monster caught him. It pulled Sans' hips up and shoved his head into the sheets, ramming into him from behind.

As the monster slammed his hips faster, he reached under Sans' shirt. He felt under his rib cage and dragged a finger over Sans' soul. Sans tried to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper, and his throat burned. He scrambled with his arms wildly, accomplishing nothing but gathering sheets around him.

“No one's going to help you. You're mine now.”

The finger drew lazy designs over the soul. Sans thrashed.

“That's it. Fight for your life, little monster. Fight for your soul.”

Sans coughed up spit. His legs weren't responding anymore. The monster gave one last hard thrust into him, then pulled out and flipped Sans on his back, lifting his shirt over his ribs and exposing the pulsating light of his frantic soul.

Sans tried speaking again, but panic had frozen his vocal cords. The monster wasn't looking at him anyway. Its eyes were rolling up in its head as it pumped its cock, speeding up to a frenetic pace. It bent its whole body over Sans.

Its hips pumped once more into its hand, and it seemed to be experiencing an intense release a second before cum spurted onto Sans' soul. The semen swam around the surface for a moment before seeping into him like it was going down a drain. Sans wanted to curl up and cry and not stop crying.

The monster got up from the bed. Sans felt breath on his face as it leaned over him.

“Be good for me again next time.”

Sans heard footsteps and then a creak. The monster was going out the door. He rolled his head to the side to catch its shadow leaving. It was definitely some kind of insect or arachnid. Sans stayed still as a statue for a solid minute.

He had to get himself out of the room. He wasn't safe in here. That monster could come back for him.

Sans painfully got himself onto his stomach, then slid off the bed. When his feet touched the floor, the force of contact sent a bolt of pain from his crotch down his leg. He got onto his hands and knees, but crawling hurt too. Whimpering pitifully, he lowered himself all the way so his stomach was flat on the floor, and he tried dragging himself to the door.

Before he could make much progress, the many-legged silhouette reappeared in the doorway. Sans covered his head with his arms like he was protecting from an earthquake.

“D-don't kill me.”

He didn't know why of all things, that would be something he would ask for. Instinct, maybe.

“It's all right, dearie.”

The light was flipped on, and Muffet went up to him.

“You were safe the whole time; I was watching over you. He just wanted to role play with you, that's all.”

Sans managed to look up at her. He had no idea what kind of look he was fixing her with. Whatever it was, Muffet responded with a reassuring smile.

“I told you nothing happens here without me knowing, didn't I?”

 

 

At the next lounge night, Cecil tried to hand Sans a tray again. Sans walked in the opposite direction, and Cecil hopped in front of him to block him. They spent a moment wrestling ridiculously as a third worker grabbed quickly to save the glasses and place them on a counter.

When Cecil tried to get Sans to carry the makings of an Old Fashioned by moving to stick a cherry in Sans' eye socket, Sans dropped his tray entirely, forcing Cecil to catch it so it wouldn't hit the floor. Sans slapped the tray out of Cecil's hands so it fell to the floor anyway.

“Will you fucking stop it?”

Cecil looked up angrily from the floor where they were brushing off the tray.

“Excuse me?”

“Switching tables with me, getting in trouble with the monitors on purpose, all that shit. You have a problem, Cecil. Some kind of...saving-people problem. Consider this a favor, because you're going to get yourself killed if you keep doing stuff like this.”

Cecil huffed.

“Mind your own business. And go to the damn table.”

They shoved the tray into Sans' hands.

“Don't—”

“ _I'm fine_. Just fricking go. Just go!”

The old crocodile woke from a nap while Sans was already busy muddling sugar and bitters for his drink.

“Cecil told me to expect you last time. Are you all right?”

“Fine.”

Sans muddled the sugar with a bit too much force. Cecil was somewhere on the other side of the room with some other client, or clients, maybe a monster that would have a pleasant conversation with them, or maybe a monster that would continually try to force itself on them. That they would have to keep their guard up around.

Sans could barely move his legs without pain shooting up his groin, he wouldn't even be able to fight off the chronically drunk client like this. He was still so scared and he needed this favor very, very badly, but that didn't make him feel any less like trash. He slid the Old Fashioned over to the crocodile, then rested his forehead on the table.

“...do you want to hear a story? Or are you not feeling well?”

“I wanna hear a story. Hold on.”

Sans very slowly and gingerly got himself off his side of the booth and sat next to the crocodile on the other side. He leaned on the crocodile's shoulder. The monster looked down at him in mild surprise.

“If we were caught like this, I could get into trouble, you know.”

“So get into trouble for me.” Sans leaned more heavily on him. “It's all the rage lately.”

A few minutes into the old monster's story, Sans fell asleep on top of him.

 

 

“Nothing's going to hurt you. You'll be perfectly safe.”

Sans paused outside the door to his room. He didn't want to go in anymore. Muffet opened it. The only thing different about the room was that a dummy had been placed in a corner. Sans looked nervously at Muffet.

“Just go to sleep, dear. Nothing will happen until morning.”

“I...don't think I'll be able to sleep now.”

“Yes you will. I drugged your dinner.”

“You—!”

“Come along.”

Muffet took Sans by the shoulders and guided him to his bed. He braced himself against her pushing, not enough to get in trouble, but enough to slow her. He was already getting sleepy, as though being told about the drug had activated it somehow.

“Muffet, please...”

“It's okay. A client will wake you up, that's all. I'll be watching the whole time. They'll be very gentle.”

As Sans was pushed onto the bed and tucked in, he kept reaching up and whining her name plaintively.

“I don't...Muffet...! Muffet, no...”

“Goodnight, Sans. Sweet dreams.”

The lights were turned out and Sans wasn't aware of drifting off.

 

 

Now was this a sex dream, or was a monster in his room again, touching him? Whatever was going on, it felt so good that Sans let it happen without complaint.

Something felt warm and wet. Sans tried to reach down to stroke between his legs, but his arms were too heavy to lift even an inch. He had to settle for letting himself be taken care of. By...whatever this was.

Was that a tongue? There was a tingling, a hot zap like an electric pulse of pure sex. He came in subdued spasms, hips thrusting at the air a few times, craving a more intense release.

Sans opened his eyes, suddenly remembering what Muffet told him last night. He looked around, but wasn't able to raise his head. It looked like the dummy had been moved closer to his bed, but other than that there was nothing unusual. No one else was in the room.

Then a very strange thing occurred. Sans felt his own mouth open, heard his own voice, saying things he wasn't telling it to say.

“Mornin' sunshine.”

Sans' hand went between his legs and rubbed in circles. The motion confused Sans—he'd wanted his hand to do that a moment ago, but this was some kind of bizarre delayed response. He could feel his hand, could feel himself on his fingertips and the tingling at his groin, but he didn't feel control. With the same disconnected feeling, his hips lifted off the bed, jerking into the hand's movements. Then both his hands pulled his shorts down.

Sans spoke again without choosing the words.

“How about a dick, huh?”

Sans wasn't able to use his own voice, but the other speaker evidently had some connection to Sans' thoughts.

“Whaddya mean they didn't teach you that one, you some kinda moron? Whatever.”

A red, transparent cock appeared out of magic. It was formed fully erect. Sans' hand was made to grip it and pump it once. This time the surprised jerk of his hips was his own.

“Sensitive, aintcha? Heh heh heh...”

The force controlling him made him pump the cock faster, too fast—some precum was already dribbling out and his body convulsed. Sans clenched the sheets hard with his other fist.

“I bet you're the type to dirty talk yourself when you jerk it.”

Sans' hand was made to stroke a rib under his shirt while his other hand still pumped furiously at his cock. He was forced to pant with his tongue out.

“Ohhh, feels so good, it's so hot...I'm gonna...”

Exaggerated moans came out of his mouth. He turned over on his stomach and started humping the thick covers.

“I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come—!”

But he didn't come. His hips and hand stopped moving and working at him at the worst possible moment, leaving a tantalizing release just out of reach.

“Ahhh, that's a good start. Don't wanna get too excited too fast. It's been a while.”

His hand trailed over the shaft of the dick. The light touch was torturous.

“What's that? I'm a ghost, obviously. Try to keep up, dummy.”

The ghost made him get up from bed and put his shorts back on over the straining erection. It shrugged on his old snow jacket. Then it went up to the door, and slammed a flat hand on it instead of going for the knob.

“Woo! I felt that. You're really fightin' this hard. Whatsamatter, you shy, baby boy?”

The hand gripped the knob forcefully and swung the door open.

“We're gonna get sucked off. Try not to cramp my style.”

They walked down the hall and into the section of private rooms. The ghost made them knock on a door, and Shyren answered.

“Heya doll.”

“Oh! Sans! I didn't expec—”

The ghost brushed past Shyren and walked into the room.

“—expect...come in?”

Sans sat down on a couch and got comfortable. Shyren went up to him uncertainly.

_It's not me. It's not me it's not me it's not me_

_**Pipe down in there, short stuff.** _

The ghost had them pat the spot on the couch next to them. Shyren didn't appear to notice, still looking confused.

“I'm happy to see you walking around easier. Are you feeling a little better?”

“What? Oh yeah, my legs hurt like hell. I kinda like it, though.”

“I...oh? Listen, Sans, I was meaning to talk to you, and I know you're not usually very open—I'm glad you came to see me, I really am, but...I'm actually waiting for a client right now.”

Sans leaned back and waggled his eyebrows. Shyren blinked.

“What...what? But how—”

“Muffet gave me special permission or something, what do you care?”

Sans got up from the couch and grabbed Shyren's fin, forcing it to touch the erection between his legs.

“I took care o' the foreplay for you, so let's get right down to it, huh? Or you get down to it, at least.”

Shyren pulled her fin away.

“Sans, this had better not be a prank.”

“I'm serious, babe. C'mon, I'm dyin' here.”

Shyren looked into Sans' eyes. Then she looked at a camera up in the corner. A thought in her head was almost visible as it flitted through her eyes. When she focused on Sans again, her face was sad.

“I'm sorry.”

“Huh? What the hell for?”

Shyren's expression changed to a more neutral one.

“...for misunderstanding, of course.”

She got on her knees and placed her fins on Sans' hips.

“Now that's more like it.”

Shyren looked up at him, and for a moment her gaze was strangely piercing.

“Don't worry...Sans. I'll take care of you.”

“Uh...yeah, okay. Good. Cool.”

The ghost pulled the dick out of their shorts. Shyren moved her face toward it, her mouth open, her breath radiating a wet warmth before the mouth even touched the cock.

Sans tripped backwards and landed on his behind. He sat on the floor, quaking, the ghost making his head shake in confusion. Shyren looked down at them, some sadness creeping back into her face. The ghost forced a laugh.

“I uh...I tripped? Oops? Whatever, suck me off from down here, then I get to lie back.”

“Do you need a moment?”

“Fucking no, suck my dick already! This shit hurts!”

Shyren hesitated anyway, but bent over Sans and lowered her head into his lap. She lapped gently around the head of the cock, then kissed it. It gave a needy twitch.

“Christ, this ain't prom, go faster than that!”

Shyren enveloped the head in her mouth, sucking at it and rolling her tongue around it. Sans leaned back and moaned.

“Ohh, that's...that's better. Take more of it, god, don't make me fuck your face.”

His hips rut up anyway, and Shyren quickly fit more of the cock down her throat. Sans could feel her throat gulping around him, the tongue massaging him. He let out a shuddering sigh. His hand rested on the back of Shyren's head, then pushed it down further.

“How much can you...ugh! How much can you take?”

Shyren easily took his whole cock down her throat in answer. He was hugged by a tight heat. She slowly drew her head up, then lowered it down again. Sans' hips shook.

“Shit, shit, that's good...go faster, come on, come on—!”

His hips bucked into her mouth. She moved her head up with his hips.

“Dammit, ugh, come on, don't make me beg. Jesus this hurts...I waited too long, I gotta...”

Shyren bobbed her head up and down faster, the motion both building up the tension and relieving the stress. The ghost gave a sob of relief. Sans' body curled over her head almost helplessly, hips making small desperate jerking motions that she stilled by holding his thighs down with her fins.

“Oh shit, that's...fuck. Ahaha. I forgot it's...don't judge, I'm. Fuck! I'm gonna—”

Sans grabbed at Shyren's head and raised his hips against her fins. She stilled her head over him with his cock all the way down her throat, and she made swallowing motions that contracted around him. Shivers rushed through him as he came. He heard her gulping.

When she'd swallowed everything, she raised her mouth and licked over him, the cock giving a few last twitches in response as it started to soften. Sans laid all the way back.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

“Mads, could I talk to Sans please?”

“Jesus, you couldn't keep it up the whole time? What a boner killer.”

Shyren looked at the softening dick, then at Sans.

“Aren't you done?”

“Ain't you ever heard of afterglow, bitch? Besides, I got time left. I'm gonna go catch some Z's, or maybe jack off some more. Hell, bodies are amazing. Even weird ones like this.”

“Couldn't I, just for a moment—?”

“Hey, babe, I'm in this guy's head. I'll give you a translation: he says you have a great bod, he wants to feed you more spunk some time.”

Shyren's facial expression was controlled. Sans didn't know her well enough to know if she was concealing doubt or disgust.

 

 

The ghost made them flop onto the bed in his room. He nuzzled their face into the covers and gave a satisfied groan.

“I hope you like it dirty, 'cause you're gonna jizz in the sheets.”

He worked himself up again, rutting into the bed, spitting into his hand and pumping his dick into an almost painful erection.

“Ah, ohhh, yeah...yeah...”

The discomfort transformed back into a flush of pleasure that surged down his spine and through his groin, orgasm paralyzing him into submission to his need. The ghost gathered bedding to his crotch and released into it.

Before everything was spent, Sans felt control return to him, but only just. He was still coming in small spurts, but he was too desperate to stop himself. He made himself finish, stroking out the last discharges from his cock.

A mad cackle came from next to the bed. Sans tiredly turned his head to look. The dummy was moving, grinning at him.

“Thought I'd treat you to a little too, since I had such a good time. Thanks for the loan.”

It hopped out of the room. Sans pushed himself away from the soiled spot on the bed and curled up.

 

 

Sans woke up to Muffet shaking him.

“Wha...what's going on?”

“It's past noon, Sans. You missed—”

Sans shot up and scrambled out of bed. Muffet looked confused by his speed.

“I'm not...I'm not moping! I'm fine. I just...I just overslept a little, happens to me s-sometimes, I'll go g-get. Breakfast. Lunch?” He laughed nervously.

“Sans?”

Muffet walked closer to him and he tripped backwards onto the bed. He held his hands up like a shield.

“no please”

“Sans, you need to calm down.”

“I'm calm...I'm calm! I'm just gonna go get food. Like you w-want me to.”

Muffet took Sans' hands into hers. He shook.

“no no please Muffet, I'm calm. I'm calm.”

“Shh, it's all right.”

She wrapped his wrists in webbing, securing them behind his back.

“I'm so t-tired, please, I need to eat, n-not...not...”

“It's all right, dear, you just need to get used to this. The more you do it, the less scary it will be. I promise.”

“No please, please, just let me go eat. I'm sorry I m-missed breakfast, I'm sorry, I won't do it again!”

“This isn't punishment, Sans. I just don't want you to react like this every time. You have to face your fears.”

She pushed him back onto the bed.

“This won't take long. Be good, now.”

“I'm not...fighting you. I'm b-being good. Aren't I?”

“Yes sweetie, all right. Now, you have a new trick. How about you show it to me?”

Muffet's smile melted into a frown as she watched Sans shiver in place.

“You can't be that tired, dear, you slept half the day.”

“I...I can't remember how to m-make it.”

Muffet lifted Sans' face by the chin.

“You had better not be lying to me.”

Sans swallowed.

“i'm lying”

Muffet let go of his face.

“Oh, honey, this really isn't such a big deal.” She rubbed a thumb under his eyes. “I wasn't going to exhaust you. You've got work tonight, after all.”

“She...she was nice to me. She asked how I was.”

Muffet brushed the backs of her fingers down Sans' face.

“Who, Shyren? Yes, she's very thoughtful.”

“She sits with me at lunch sometimes.”

Muffet stroked Sans' body over his clothes.

“I'm sure she still will, dear. This won't change anything between you two. You may not be used to things here, but she is.”

“I d-d-don't—”

Muffet tugged down Sans' shorts. He automatically snapped his legs together, then forced himself to spread them back out.

“There you go. You _are_ being good, there's a dear. Make a dick now, please.”

Sans obeyed. The cock formed half-erect. Muffet pulled on latex gloves and covered them in lube while Sans waited, not daring to move.

“Just relax.”

She sat on the bed and took him into her lap, rubbing his back and supporting it at the same time with her many hands. Muffet rubbed two of her hands together and blew a hot breath into them. The hands felt lukewarm as they grabbed his cock and stroked up it, getting warmer with the friction.

After the first strokes got sans from half to fully erect, Muffet used one hand to grip and jerk him up and down. Sans squirmed.

“You're getting much better at being touched.” She brought her face in close enough that Sans imagined she could feel the heat radiating off of his. “I know you're trying very hard. Look at how well you're doing.”

Sans _was_ trying very hard. He didn't want to think about how many times in just the last couple days that Woshua had changed his sheets.

Muffet pumped him faster. Sans jerked into the motion unevenly a few times.

“Muffet...Muffet—!”

She pet his face.

“Just let go, Sans. Nothing bad's going to happen to you; you're going to feel good and that's all. Just let yourself go.”

Sans tried to imagine what letting go felt like. Not thinking about what he was doing. About other people. About hurting them—

His erection softened, and the continued tugging at it felt rough. Sans flinched.

“That h-hurts!”

Muffet immediately stopped. He could practically smell her disappointment.

“Sans, what's the matter with you?”

Sans' voice was quiet.

“You made me hurt her.”

“Well, it's not like it was really you.” At Sans' expression, she changed tack. “Oh Sans, don't be naïve. She didn't get hurt.” Muffet gave one more testing stroke to Sans' cock, but it was probably clear it caused him real physical pain from the way he winced. Muffet tilted Sans' head up to look at her. “What's that face for?”

“please don't drug me”

Muffet sighed. “Not this time. You'd get too tired.” She ran her hand against his thigh and stared between his legs. “You probably won't be asked for it much anyway...all right, go on and dispel.”

Sans did, and let out a breath of relief. Muffet undid the webbing holding his wrists.

“Go start your day, then. Make sure you eat enough so you don't fall asleep with your client, or I'll have some more to say to you.”

Sans nodded. He badly wanted to lie back again and sleep as he was, but a helpful spike of fear moved him off the bed and through the door before Muffet could do anything else to him.

 

 

Sans made sure he went to the cafeteria during an off-hour. He snuck in and grabbed food without looking at it as fast as he could. He ended up with mostly an armful of donuts. He considered secreting them back to his room despite Muffet's previous warnings not to do exactly that, but he was wary of dealing with her again today. But he didn't want to risk seeing Shyren either if he stayed in the communal areas too long.

He got himself into a private room meant for entertaining clients and sat on the edge of the bed. Unfortunately, he couldn't close the door or he'd be locked in. He shot the small opening paranoid glances as he scarfed his donuts.

A knock on the door made him jump. A tiny hand pushed it open wider, and Cecil let themselves in. They looked at him for a moment with a measured expression.

“Look, I know life has been hell for you lately, but I've never seen anyone cry like that while eating donuts.”

“It happens.”

“You're getting them soggy.”

Sans threw a donut at Cecil's face. Cecil picked it up from where it fell on the ground and brushed it off, then took a bite. A mouse after his own heart.

Cecil sat down next to Sans on the bed.

“Get out.”

Cecil got up from the bed.

“I'll leave. I'll go if that's really what you want.”

Sans coughed out a sob and moved to cover his face with his hands, but ended up smooshing the donut still in his mouth into a crumble. Cecil put their hands up.

“Maybe that was...a bad way to put it. I really will leave if you want. I just think you could use a friend, and maybe you shouldn't fight it so hard? I'm not trying to play mind games with you. I know Muffet makes you feel like you can't make choices—”

“You don't fucking know how I feel!”

Cecil gave him a look.

“I don't—shit, that was stupid, obviously you know how I—I mean, that's the problem.”

“What is?”

“I can't...stand the way you look at me. After I've been in those rooms. Like you know exactly what h-happened, because you _do_ , and...I can't do this.”

The mouse took a step toward him. Sans cringed.

“I don't want you to know what's happening to me. I don't want to know what's happened to you. I don't—I can't. I can't do that. I can't do that with anyone.”

Sans hugged his knees.

“Leave me alone.”

Cecil walked to the door. They looked over their shoulder as they exited.

“I'll be around.”

They made sure the door was only slightly ajar as they left.

 

 

Sans did a better job of balancing his tray this time. When he entered the private room, though, no one was there. He heard soft footsteps behind him and felt a warm body press against his back. He froze.

“Oops, I'm late. Looks like I caught you just in time anyway. Lucky me.”

Two paws clutched Sans' shoulders and pressed his back against an erection. Sans dropped the tray.

“Missed me that much, eh Sansy?”

Sans looked up and was treated to a string of drool hitting him between the eyes. Hot breath panted over him.

“Who's my good doggy?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> ........guess
> 
> As always, your comments embolden my black heart and fill it with something that non-leeches might call love. 
> 
> Join the party on tumblr, where readers are sending me amazing art of the fic and holy heck you guys crack me up with your responses to shit. There's lots of screaming:
> 
> http://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/


	6. I wonder how dirty you really are?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: dog sex. With knotting. And some other things. Now we start to approach what the tags are for cause wOw gross chapter! 
> 
> There is no reason to make yourself read it if you don't want to??? It's trash, if it upsets you too much just close the tab. 
> 
> take care, frienderonis.

Lesser Dog pushed Sans into the room. Sans fell onto his hands and knees. He heard the tray being kicked out of the way on the floor behind him.

“Looks like you need to be house-trained. You have these accidents a lot, pup?”

Sans stayed silent. He tried to decide whether he should get up from the floor or not. Whether it would make a difference to how this night would go.

“You're gonna need to go get me some more.”

Sans scrambled up, grateful for the chance to spend some of the session out of the room. How much trouble would he get in if he took his time getting back with the drinks?

As he hurried toward the door, Lesser Dog grabbed his tie. Sans nearly choked on his own momentum. He stood still.

“Hang on there. You don't think you're going alone?” He pulled on the tie, and Sans turned to face him. “A naughty pup like you needs supervision.”

Lesser Dog took his coat off. He reached into an inside pocket and took out a collar and leash. Sans went stiff.

“I was planning to take you for a walk if you were good, but now I'm thinking our little trip is gonna have to be educational.”

He wrapped the collar around Sans' neck and fixed it on, then attached the leash.

“Let's go.”

He didn't give Sans enough time to recover from his shock before he was yanking on his neck with the leash. Sans gripped the tight leash.

“Y-you're not really gonna...in the halls?”

“That's right, Sansy. Maybe you should be more careful next time.”

“You were...you were already p-planning this, asshole!”

Lesser Dog gave a harsh tug, and Sans lost his footing. The dog pulled him up so that his feet didn't touch the ground. Sans kicked his legs, choking.

“Watch it. You really like making things worse for yourself, huh?”

He dangled Sans closer to his face. Sans gasped and gripped the collar.

“I bet you're enjoying all this. You must love attention.”

He reached a hand into Sans' pants and rubbed him between the legs.

“You were probably getting off thinking about tonight, ever since I told you I would visit. You were touching yourself, thinking about my cock pounding into you. You get in trouble on purpose just for the punishment. Isn't that right?”

He rubbed Sans harder, pushing his back against the wall. The paw holding the leash pinned him to the wall by his chest. The release of pressure on his neck and the quick return of oxygen made Sans' head spin in an unexpected rush of euphoria.

“Look, you're getting wet already!”

Sans was pretty sure that was sweat, but whatever.

“Make a cunt. We're gonna get you ready to go out first.”

Lesser Dog was still rubbing him between the legs.

“It's...I can't if your...hand is there.”

“Sure you can.”

The dog increased the pressure on his chest and hooked fingers into his pelvis like he was entering a pussy. He breathed on Sans' face.

“Do it.”

“I can't—”

Lesser Dog shook him.

“You don't know 'til you try, do you?”

He licked up Sans' face.

“Unless you want me to tell Muffet what a bad boy you are. I'm sure she can dream up something worse than this for you.”

Sans tried to form a pussy. As the magic started to coalesce and fill in the area where the fingers invaded, it trembled and warped. The sound that came out of Sans' throat was half yell and half screech. His body convulsed, and he gripped tightly on the arm holding him up.

“...you did it wrong.”

Lesser Dog removed his fingers. Sans let the magic dissipate.

“Did I say you could do that? Finish it.”

Sans' arms fell to his sides, making him look even more like a rag doll. He concentrated again, his pussy forming with a weak glow as though the magic itself were reluctant.

“There we are.”

Lesser Dog's fingers entered him, working him up roughly. Sans felt betrayed by his body's response. The rough treatment quickly got him slick and dripping. His best guess was that his magic was attempting to save him pain, because he didn't feel the usual accompanying twinges of arousal. His magic throbbed in protest of the pain it had already endured.

“Nice and wet. Now we're ready to go.”

He pulled his hand out of Sans' pants, then let Sans down from the wall and tugged on his leash. Sans took only one hesitant step to follow him through the door. Lesser Dog looked back at him, annoyed.

“Hurry up, pooch.”

Sans squeezed his legs together. There was a faint glow through his pants, and an obvious wet spot at his crotch. One look at the dog's impatient face told him that was the idea. He wanted him to walk around like this. On a leash.

As the dog walked into the hall, Sans slowly followed after him, picking up the pace after some increasingly violent tugs at his collar.

Sans could feel eyes on him. He kept his eyes trained on the ground and saw the feet of other monsters passing by them. No one talked to him. He thought he saw the bottom half of Shyren pause and turn as they passed, but he hid his face as soon as he could.

They turned before Sans expected.

“The kitchen's...uh, it's down that—”

“I know where the fucking kitchen is. We're not going there.”

Then Sans recognized their path. They reached the entrance to Lounge B. Sans had never gone in when it wasn't Lounge Night, and so he'd never seen it like this. There were still workers and clients, but they were cozier together than he was used to seeing them in the booths. It didn't look like anyone was full on doing it, but it filled Sans with unease all the same. There was probably a different pricing for using the lounge tonight.

“Get in here.”

Sans had been standing frozen in the entrance for a full ten seconds. Lesser Dog pulled hard on the leash, and Sans did his best not to fall on the floor again. He followed to the bar.

He reached for drinks stored under the counter, but Lesser Dog tightened his leash. They weren't doing this the practical way, then. Sans turned around to see the dog seated on a chair, pointing at the floor in front of him. Sans went up to him and got on his knees before him.

“You're not so cocky without your brother protecting you, are you?”

Lesser Dog pushed on Sans' shoulder with a foot.

“I think that's what pissed me off the most about you. Always ready with a lame joke, sniping out insults, then hiding behind your big tough boss. I wish he could see you now.”

He yanked Sans up by the neck and lowered him onto his thighs. He spread a hand between Sans' legs again and held him tight, forcing him to feel his long erection against his tailbone.

“You're gonna give a whole new meaning to 'lapdog.' _I'm_ your boss tonight, Sansy.”

Other monsters were looking over. They were looking at him. A shadow at the entrance paused there, and Sans could feel their eyes too, could feel everyone's eyes as though they were spotlights shining on him.

Maybe they weren't looking, maybe it was his imagination, maybe nobody gave a shit. They were all busy with their own little private parties. But Sans couldn't help but feel that he was the only one in the room being treated like this, the only one with a fucking collar for sure, and it was drawing attention.

He couldn't make himself look up long enough to confirm it. He struggled. Lesser Dog gripped his groin painfully tight and growled in his ear.

“Today was _not_ a good day on patrol. Do you get what I'm saying? Your brother is pissing. Me. Off. And your ass is gonna feel it.”

He grabbed Sans' face and licked the rim of his eye socket. Sans shuddered.

“I wanna fuck you in front of him so bad. Just let him see what every fucking quirk of his does to you. Every time I have to hear his annoying voice, I'm gonna come give you a nice, raw pounding. Every time he makes some stupid quip about dogs, you're gonna be slurping spooge for dinner. Who knows—your bro seems like a twisted guy. Maybe he'd get off on it.”

Oh good. Sans almost thought he'd lost the capacity for anger, but it looked like he still had access to that emotion.

Lesser Dog's tongue lapped deep inside Sans' eye socket, then quickly pulled out. Sans' eye was glowing like melted metal.

“Ooh, putting on your tough-guy face. Did I hit the nail on the head? Don't worry, if that uptight prick gets lonely, he still has those videos of you to spank it to—”

Sans snapped his teeth at the dog's muzzle. When the dog laughed at him, Sans went for him with his hands.

“You really _do_ wanna get punished!”

Lesser Dog threw Sans to the floor. Sans landed hard on his back, the wind knocked out of him. He groaned and curled on his side, quaking from the effort to take in air again.

“Aw, hell.”

Sans felt himself get checked. He wheezed.

“I'm not...d-dead yet, you...asshole...”

Lesser Dog bent over Sans and pulled his collar so their faces nearly touched.

“You're not putting on a very good show for these nice people. I'm not gonna play this your way...” He looked Sans up and down. Sans could do little but squirm under his weight. “Hm. Yeah, I could do that.”

He tied Sans' wrists together with the end of the leash. Sans' violent wriggling only lengthened the process, but the knot was finished and tightened.

“Time to show everyone what a freak you are.”

He picked Sans up and slid him onto the counter, pushing over cups and glasses. Sans tried to bend forward, but a paw slammed him down on his back. Lesser Dog got up on the counter and straddled him, then started unbuttoning Sans' shirt. He spread it open, revealing the burning light of Sans' soul.

“Wait...no...!”

“Shoulda thought of that, eh Sansy? Enjoy cumming in front of everyone.”

The dog gave his soul a rough lick. Sans kicked out, and he got kneed in the thigh. Fingers went back into his pants, stroking him fast and hard. Lesser Dog's tongue licked his soul again, working up from long, slow licks to quick ones. Then the tongue rolled over the soul, vibrating it as the dog hummed, the vibrations echoing through Sans' magic. He could feel his face heating up, everything getting hot.

Lesser Dog slipped the tip of his tongue in the soul, and Sans was repulsed to feel hot pleasure seeping through him. His hips bucked.

“A-ah!”

Sans growled in frustration. How could he be responding to this? He was disgusting. But the stimulation was too much. His body couldn't resist.

The fingers entered him at the same time that the tongue slid deeper into his soul.

“Ha...ah! Get. Get off me. G-get off—ah! Get off me!”

“You love this. Probably love everyone watching you, too. You can't lie to me when you're this fucking soaked.”

The dog jabbed his fingers in at a curve, hitting a spot over and over that made Sans' whole body rock with an electric tingle. His legs were almost lifted off the counter with each jab of the fingers, and each time forced a ridiculous squeaking noise from his throat. His face was so hot with humiliation he thought it might burn off entirely.

The tongue went back inside his soul and curled and circled. He had a horrifying realization that a climax was building up in both places at once.

“No no no...stop...stop...no!”

The fingers inside him pounded him mercilessly, the tongue lapping at him like it was drinking him up. His pussy came first, squeezing the fingers even as they continued to stab into him. Then a pulse from his soul gripped the magic at his groin, and one ripple of pleasure after another tore through him. He was so sensitive that just a finger brushing hard over his clit made him come again. He lost track of how many times that made.

There wasn't going to be any mistaking what was happening to him. Even if his soul weren't pulsing and wavering with light as he came, he couldn't quiet himself, didn't have the energy to hold it in. Even though the rest of the room was so quiet now. Even though he thought he heard someone else say his name, like they were talking about him right in front of him.

The hand pulled out of his pants, but his swollen soul was left exposed.

“That didn't take you long. I told you you needed to loosen up.” He laughed as he shook wetness from his hand. “Jesus, it's everywhere. Where were you even keeping that much juice?”

Sans stayed totally motionless. Any fight he had was gone. Maybe it had been finger banged out of him. Lesser Dog looked down at him.

“Oh my god, are you _crying?_ This is too fucking good. You're really a piece of work.”

The dog leaned down and licked his face.

“So good it's making you emotional, huh? Wanna ask real nice for me to take this back to a private place?”

Sans breathed hard, trying not to look the dog in the eye. His collar was tugged.

“Unless you wanna suck me off out here too.”

“N-no.”

“Sorry, can't hear you unless you're polite.”

“...please.”

“Please _what_ , Sansy?”

“Please. Take me back...to the room.”

Lesser Dog sniffed, then snorted.

“Not good enough.”

He got off the counter and dragged Sans with him. He sat himself on the chair and made Sans kneel between his legs. Sans' hands were still bound in front of him at the wrist. Lesser Dog pulled on the leash so that Sans' face was forced close enough to his crotch to smell his erection.

“You wanna do this here? You wanna finish everything out where anyone can walk in?”

“No...no.”

“Beg.”

“P-please.”

A hand on the back of his head crushed his face against the crotch. He could feel heat through the pants.

“What, is that it? Maybe you like this a little too much. Lick it!” He grabbed Sans' head so his mouth was pressed to the bulge. Sans gave a small lick. The hand pressed him harder.

“You want this? Wanna show everyone how good you are at sucking cock?”

“No, I...take us back to the room. Please...take us back inside.”

“Not very convincing.”

He unzipped his pants.

“Please. N-not here.”

“Too bad. You need to learn how to do this right.”

Sans didn't know why he was shocked that the dog took his cock out of his pants. Maybe he'd thought the dog had a shred of dignity and didn't actually want to expose himself in public. But as Lesser Dog gripped Sans' head with both hands and pulled his mouth up to the tip of the cock, Sans realized that the dog hadn't just been baiting him. He would really make him do this.

Unfortunately, Sans had the exact wrong response first.

“No! No! No! Let go of me! You fucking—LET GO!”

He braced his legs against the chair and pushed his head as far away as possible. The dog was just startled enough by his struggle to tolerate that much of it. Then he held Sans up high enough that his feet couldn't brace on anything, and before Sans could get a foothold back, he shoved Sans' head down so his cheek rubbed against the cock.

“What a bad dog! Time to rub your nose in it.”

Lesser Dog pumped his cock, precum dribbling out the end. He wiped it on Sans' cheek and against his teeth. Sans turned his face to the side.

“P-p-please please, not in front of—take us back, please take us back, d-don't make me do this out...out here.”

“Too late, pup. At this point maybe you can suck me well enough to convince me not to bend you over out here, too.”

He pushed the cock into Sans' mouth. The taste was vile. Sans moved his head over the tip, taking it in. It had a strange shape, and the stench all around it came with a heady musk that made Sans' head spin. He thought he was moving, but apparently he'd spaced out. Lesser Dog gripped his head and insistently moved it up and down himself. Sans gagged.

“You like that? Come on, take more.”

Lesser Dog repositioned Sans so he could shove more of the cock down his throat. Sans choked on precum; it was pumping out heavily, almost like the dog were already cumming.

“I wanna feel you swallow, Sansy.”

Sans gulped once, then started coughing. The dog pulled him away, letting him cough out some of the liquid and gasp for air. The precum was still gushing out on him, wetting his chest and drizzling into his soul. When the first few drops hit his soul and dripped inside, Sans made himself swallow the tip of the cock again, if for nothing else to plug it up. He gulped more down.

“Getting into it, huh? Make it good.”

Maybe he could make this end faster. Sans sucked harder. The quiet of the room was broken when another patron shouted lewd encouragement at him. They said his name. They _were_ watching. Sans nearly puked. He stopped moving, shuddering hard.

“Fucking—don't stop now, you dirty runt!”

Sans fell back. Lesser Dog was shooting up from the chair, crouching over him and rutting into his mouth. He gave a harsh bark as a fluids flooded Sans' mouth. The dog was practically cradling Sans to his crotch as he emptied into him. It felt endless. It started to seem as though drinking this down would be the rest of Sans' life. Finally Lesser Dog dropped Sans' whole body to the floor.

Sans didn't get up as the dog stepped over him, zipping his pants up on the way. Sans heard the rattle of bottles and glasses.

“Let's take a break, huh? If you do a good job, I may even finish this up in the room, like you want.” He lifted Sans' neck from the floor by the collar. “You want that, don't you?”

“Y-yes.”

Looking up, Sans saw the dog had already filled two glasses with alcohol. He'd set one on the counter and held the other. He sat himself down in the chair again with a satisfied groan.

Sans got himself back up on his knees. He didn't bother standing up.

“This one's for you, Sansy. Come get it.”

Sans started to get up from the floor, but Lesser Dog put his hand up. Sans scooted himself forward on his knees instead to kneel at the dog's legs again.

“Good boy. Drink up.”

He tipped the glass and spilled it onto the floor. Sans looked at him miserably.

“Good puppies lick up their dinner. Bad puppies get their pussies hammered up on the table where everyone can get a good, long look.”

“Not up here. I just cleaned this.”

Sans' head snapped up. Woshua was on the counter, wiping it down and sweeping glass into a dust pan.

Sans didn't know why the words came out. Licking the floor was hardly the worst thing the dog had told him to do so far, but looking from the spill, to the dog's smirking face, to Woshua cleaning away while all this was happening made something snap. Sans shivered and looked up at the janitor.

“woshua, help me”

The janitor only glanced at him briefly in a subdued double take, startled by his words but too uncomfortable with eye contact to give a stronger reaction. Woshua kept cleaning, ignoring him.

The top of Sans' head was grabbed and made to look into the dog's face.

“What was that, pup?”

“N-nothing, I—”

“You want some more punishment?”

“No please. I'm sorry. I'll—I'll do it, I'm sorry, I. I'll do it I'll do it.”

Sans' obvious fear seemed to please the dog enough to let go of him.

“That's more like it. Better make it good.”

How exactly did he make licking the floor look good? He bent over and pressed his tongue to the floor, cleaning up what he could. He wasn't sure if he should be thankful or not that it wasn't enough to give him a buzz. Losing more control wasn't appealing, but maybe it would have been easier to get through the night. He half-considered asking the dog if he could get him drunk for real. The request might even please him.

Sans heard moaning. He looked up. The dog was stroking himself. For the first time, Sans saw what it looked like for its dick to get erect—if he'd seen it under different circumstances, he probably would have laughed his ass off, would never stop making jokes about it afterward. As it was, knowing the dog was going to put it inside him soon, it was terrifying.

A wet, bright red tip started poking out of a fleshy mound of fur, like lipstick sliding up from its tube. It pulsed and inflated like a tick gorged on blood. It didn't look like it should be able to stand up under its own weight, but it jutted straight up in the air from the dog's stroking attentions. Not to mention it didn't seem to follow the laws of conservation of mass. How was that thing kept in that little mound of fur?

Sans had stopped licking the floor, paralyzed by the anticipation.

“Please don't. Please don't.”

Lesser Dog paused his stroking. His eyes woke from their blissful daze and fixed sharply on Sans. Sans regretted speaking.

“Don't what, Sansy? I wanna hear you say it.”

“P-please don't...f...fuck me here.”

Or anywhere.

“Again.”

“Please. Please don't do this here. D-don't...do this to me.”

His voice broke on the last word. Lesser Dog looked like his day had been made. Maybe he would keep his word after all. He leaned forward and pulled on the loop of the leash.

“I'm thinking about it, Sansy. But you were really bad, putting up a fight like that. You need to show me more of your good side.”

He let go of the leash, and Sans fell back. Sans almost pleaded more, but Lesser Dog spoke first.

“Beg like a dog. Go on, put your hands up and give us a yip.”

Sans brought his bound hands up. He opened his mouth, his teeth chattering. His bark was overtaken by a sob.

“Ooh, didn't quite catch that. One more time.”

Sans barked a few more times for good measure. Tears were streaming down his face. Lesser Dog's face split in a toothy grin.

“Mm, there's a good puppy. Let's go, bring my drink.”

Sans scrambled up as quickly as he could. He had a great deal of difficulty reaching for the drink with his hands tied. Lesser Dog picked up the drink and handed it to him. Sans knew better than to mistake the action for kindness; he remembered all too well how it felt to sport an erection for too long without relief. Lesser Dog was probably too impatient to use Sans' trouble with the drink to torment him further at the moment.

In fact, after Sans took only a couple careful steps with the drink, the dog pulled him up by the middle and carried him horizontally under one arm, Sans holding the drink out in front of his face as the dog walked them quickly back to the room.

For once Sans was relieved to hear the door click behind them. No one else would have to see this. Except Muffet. And whoever else might be watching the monitor in one of those secret rooms.

Sans was tossed onto the couch, landing at one end. Lesser Dog threw back his whole drink in one gulp, then got on the couch and lined himself up behind Sans. He yanked on Sans' collar, pulling Sans' head down and forcing him to hunch over the arm of the couch. He heard Lesser Dog give a gratified sigh.

“Ohhh, Sansy, you don't know how long I've wanted to treat you like this. Since way back when you skeleton assholes came into town and started ordering us around like you owned the place. I just wanted to bend you over and shoot a load into you like the bitch you are.”

Sans' breath was shallow.

“What's wrong? I thought you liked puns.”

The dog brought Sans' hips up from behind and ran his hands up and down Sans' legs.

“We fucking _ran_ Snowdin before you pricks came around. And now your brother thinks he's already Captain of the Guard.”

He yanked Sans' pants down. Sans felt fingers hook around his pelvis, getting ready to prepare him. Sans pushed his face into the couch arm.

“And _ugh_ , the way he brags about you and your fancy 'new job'...really hard not to laugh in his face. Still grating as hell, though.”

Fingers entered Sans and gave him a few quick jabs, then started stretching him. Sans would feel grateful if he were more certain whether he'd prefer this to be painless or not. If it weren't painful, there was the risk he'd start to enjoy it, and he'd never hear the end of that. The fingers pulled out of him, and Lesser Dog hunched over so his face was next to Sans'. He turned Sans' head to look at him.

“Here's how you're going to start to make it up to me: I'm going to fuck your brains out, and you're going to _beg_ me to come inside you.”

Sans didn't have anything to say to that, but saw by the dog's face that he wanted affirmation. Sans' voice cracked.

“okay.”

He knew it was coming, but the cock entering him still took Sans by surprise. It felt like he'd been stung by a bee. Even with the wetness and preparation, the friction was too much. It was too big, and it was still entering him, pushing all the way until Sans felt the dog's hips press against him.

“Ohhh yeah. You crying again already, Sansy? Come on, save a little for when I finish.”

“It hurts it hurts please, i-it hurts”

The cock pulled back and slammed back in. Sans cried out.

“That's it. I'm gonna make you scream all right.”

The dog took up a merciless pace from the start. The couch felt like it was scooting along the floor with the violent motions. Sans' screams of pain gradually changed to something else. In spite of the pain, the relentless pounding was working him up. His pussy gripped at the cock, at first as though his body wanted to expel the invasion, and eventually like it didn't want to let go.

Sans tried so hard not to. Tried to pull everything in. But after one particularly stimulating slam into his hips, coupled with the dog rubbing the lips of his pussy with one hand, moans were spilling out of Sans' mouth and there was no stopping it.

As soon as he started moaning, he felt the cock give a strong reactionary pulse. Then he heard a huffing noise. The dog was laughing.

“I told you. You love this. You probably wanted it before I did.”

Now would be a good time to stop reacting, but the more the dog humped him, the more heat and tightness built up in him, the more noise he made.

“Admit it. If you didn't end up here, you'd have come around begging for a fuck eventually. Just admit you wanted it.”

“N-no...”

The cock rut him so hard, his hips lifted.

“Ah! Ha-a...”

“You forget how we play this game already? Say. You. Want it!”

He punctuated each word with a thrust. Sans screamed in pleasure.

“Use your words, Sansy.”

Sans panted.

“I...want it.”

“Scream it. Do it!”

Sans didn't want to confuse things. This was starting to feel too good. He hadn't expected it to feel this good. He didn't want to yell that and mean it.

Instead of admonishing him, the dog pulled on Sans' hips and pushed him back over and over so that Sans was rutting along with him. As Sans' body was reaching climax, tingling everywhere down to his fingertips, he felt himself getting checked over and over. Then the movement stopped.

Sans was lost enough to try banging his hips back against the dog's dick, but a hand stilled him. Lesser Dog laughed again.

He'd been checking how close Sans was to orgasm. He was going to keep him there. An uncharacteristically light jerk of the dog's hips confirmed it. Earlier it would have been a mercy—now it was torture. He needed it hard. Just once more, maybe twice. Just two good thrusts. Sans mumbled.

“What's that, Sansy?”

“I want...”

“Scream for me.”

“I w-want it!”

It was just once, a strong, deep thrust that pushed him over the edge and gave him release. Sans' whole body went rigid as his cunt contracted tight around the cock, then he collapsed.

Sans breathed hard for a few seconds before he felt the cock start moving again. He was confused for a moment before he remembered that the dog hadn't come yet, and the thought overwhelmed his pleasure with a flood of dread. He wanted to ask the dog to stop, but he couldn't imagine how much trouble he would get in for asking that when he'd been pleasured and the dog hadn't finished.

It didn't help that the continued friction was starting to hurt again. The faster it got, the more pained cries came out of Sans' throat, the more Sans wondered how long the dog could keep going like this. The thrusts felt like they were getting more powerful rather than less. It lasted long enough that the feeling of pleasure was getting harder to remember. Sans was tempted again to plead for it to stop, or at least not to hurt him so badly, but he was saved by the dog speaking again.

“I'm close. Beg me for it.”

That was the opposite of what he wanted to use energy begging for. Sans stayed silent other than gasps and whines at the discomfort the pulsing member caused as it continued to slap inside him. He had been hoping the dog might have forgotten about his last humiliating condition on top of all the other horrors of this experience. At Sans' silence, the dog grappled at Sans' pelvic bones with his sharp front claws, pulling Sans' hips painfully tighter against him. The dog bent over flush against Sans' back and barked in his ear.

“BEG ME FOR IT.”

Sans hiccoughed. Fresh tears were running down his face. “P-please come insi...inside me.”

The dog gave one hard thrust of acknowledgment and then sped up to a violent pace. When it reached its peak, the cock twitched and slowed down to uneven pumping. A knot grew at the base, and the rest of the cock engorged to an even more uncomfortable size inside Sans. The dog went eerily still, except for a slight twitching of his hips. There was a terrible pause. Then Sans felt hot fluids spill inside him, so much it should have been leaking down his legs to ease the pressure, but the knot blocked the escape. Sans whimpered.

The dog kicked at the back of Sans' knees, making him fold down closer to the cushion. He only stopped nudging him when Sans was crouched all the way down, pressed completely against the fabric of the couch. The dog settled himself over him like a heavy blanket. Amidst the rest of the tight pressure it was hard to tell, but Sans thought he felt a continued stream that meant the member still hadn't stopped ejaculating inside him.

“We're gonna be here for a bit, so let's have a talk, little doggy.” The dog shifted and Sans felt the cock bob in the soup of cum inside him. Sans' leg weakly gave an involuntary kick out behind him. The dog talked softly in his ear. “There's something I want. And I don't think _you_ want your brother to know what you're doing here, do you?”

Sans went cold.

“Do you, Sansy?”

“...y-you wouldn't.”

“Wouldn't I?”

“But...why? What else could you possibly get from me? You...you already got what you wanted, and I can't do anything to you. There's _nothing else I can give you_.”

“Before I tell you that, I want you to tell me what you'd be willing to do to keep me quiet.”

This time Sans didn't need to lie. “....I'd do anything.”

“Good. Say it again, but make it sound real nice.”

“Please. I'll do anything you want.”

The dog rocked on top of him, eliciting another pained whine from Sans.

“Mmm, then how about going to Muffet and changing your client hold? Seems she thinks you don't wanna entertain a group. But we all wanna play with you together.” He licked Sans' cheek.

“Okay. Okay. I'll go talk to Muffet.”

The knot had been steadily shrinking, and finally let go of its hold. The dog pulled out and cum poured out after it, dripping on Sans' legs. Sans could still feel an uncomfortable amount sticking inside him. The dog held Sans' arms folded tight behind his back and nudged his knee hard into Sans' lower back. Sans yelped, more cum spurting out from between his legs.

“Good boy.”

 

 

Muffet wasn't waiting outside the door. Now that Sans wasn't so new, she probably had other things to look after. Sans did see a different visitor coming down the hall, though. A blue bunny.

When Clarence waved for his attention and approached, Sans considered going back into the empty room and locking himself in. Lesser Dog had left long before Sans had the wherewithal to get himself off the couch.

Sans stood still and accepted fate instead.

“So this is where you were. I'd asked after you, but I'm afraid I got a bit turned around. You're looking...”

Clarence looked him up and down.

“...icky.”

Sans crossed his legs a little. He'd dressed, but his clothes weren't clean yet, and he didn't want to look down and see what kind of mess he was.

The bunny's nose twitched and scrunched up in disgust. “Ugh, you smell like dog.”

Sans stared at him.

“...oh.”

The bunny hesitantly pat Sans on the shoulder, but in one smooth motion afterward removed the glove that touched Sans and tossed it on the floor. He took another leather glove out of his coat and put it on.

They stood there awkwardly for a moment that started to feel so long, Sans thought that using the minute to torture him might have been more bearable.

“...well, this has been fun.”

Clarence exited down the hall.

 

 

Back in his own room, Sans silently allowed Woshua to clean him up and take the day's clothes for laundry. Woshua hummed to itself while it scrubbed cum from Sans' legs. Sans didn't know if Woshua felt any guilt, if it was trying to fill the awkward quiet with noise, or if it was actually just relieved and happy that it didn't have to interact with him while cleaning.

After the janitor left, Sans got into bed and thought about his promise to Lesser Dog. Sans could get up now, look for Muffet, and do exactly as the dog said. Offer himself to all of the dogs at once. Protect Papyrus from learning anything about this awful business, that is, if the dogs kept their word.

But maybe Sans didn't have to do this the dog's way. What if he just told Muffet he was being blackmailed? Took the power away? Asgore didn't want Sans to tell Papyrus what was going on, so surely he didn't want anyone else to either. If Sans told Muffet, she could shut the dogs down, save Sans just this one humiliation, and a very painful evening to boot.

Of course, if Sans were wrong and telling Muffet got back to the dogs, he would likely be in for an even more spiteful revenge.

Sans decided to at least sleep on it.

Before falling asleep, he had one good thought hit him suddenly, as though it had only just registered. The dog had given Sans something he probably hadn't intended. He'd essentially told him that Papyrus was doing well, and that he was his same, bossy self. A bad day for the dogs was bound to have been a good day for the Boss. So that was good.

Lesser Dog had also let slip, in the midst of his venting, that Papyrus had been bragging...about Sans. Not even the fact that he'd been bragging about a fake job could dampen the feeling Sans got from that notion. The Boss was talking about Sans like he was someone to be proud of. He was gloating to other monsters to the point of annoyance.

He really cared about him. Even after everything that happened. After how much he let him down. The Boss loved him. He choked up a little at the intensity of his emotions, but for once it was a good feeling. Sans couldn't be doing all bad, couldn't have made every wrong choice—his brother was okay and...he loved him. That thought swirled around Sans' head like a mobile lulling him into sleep. He would save it to the last.

 

 

Sans had a good night's sleep for once. No one woke him up in his room. He woke up on time. He was clean. It was almost a pleasant morning, if he could forget that he was being blackmailed to let himself be gang raped by every dog in Snowdin.

Going through the motions of the day, he still couldn't decide what to do. He let himself get all the way to his next appointment, to Muffet coming to him herself in his room, and he couldn't get the words out. He wondered how long the dogs would let him procrastinate before they told Papyrus. What if they'd already told him? The thought made Sans' legs weak.

He started to take off his old jacket, assuming Muffet was here to give him a new outfit.

“No no, wear your regular clothes this time. Here's your tray, dear, and please be careful with it. Come with me.”

Muffet led him out of his room and down the hall. His old clothes? Was he training with her instead of seeing a client? But then why would he have a tray of drinks?

“Muffet, what's—”

“It's not Grillby. It's a shapeshifter.”

What?

They rounded a corner. Sans fumbled with the tray of drinks, and Muffet carefully took it away from him.

A monster with a flaming head leaned against the wall outside a private room. It wasn't Grillby. But it sure looked and moved like Grillby. Certainly wore the same sardonic expression. When he looked Sans in the eye, Sans wobbled and nearly had to brace himself against the wall.

“Hey. My number one customer.”

That voice. Sans felt butterflies. Then he wanted to puke those butterflies up.

Muffet looked irritated.

“It costs extra if you want to roleplay outside the room.”

The monster shrugged. It held out a hand for Sans to take. Sans had never felt more mixed feelings about a gesture.

Muffet tried to give the tray back to Sans, but it started rattling as soon as he gripped it. She sighed and took it into the room ahead of them.

The Grillby look-alike put an arm around Sans' shoulder and gently walked him toward the door.

It couldn't happen like this. It occurred to Sans that this was the longest he'd gone without seeing Grillby since he'd moved to Snowdin. And now he was here, but he wasn't, and he was going to make him...

Sans looked helplessly over his shoulder at Muffet exiting as he was guided into the room. She looked annoyed. The protest died in Sans' throat.

The door locked behind them. Sans stared at it, not ready to look at the other monster again. The room was only dimly lit by a red light that reflected off the door handle.

Sans had purposefully done his best to push thoughts of Snowdin, of home, as far away as he could. He didn't need another reason to start breaking down in front of these monsters. Now home had followed him in the worst way possible, and he was going to have to decide. Was this finally too much? Would this be the hill he died on?

He couldn't attack the monster effectively, but if he went through the motions of an attack, maybe he could get himself dusted. Or he'd get sent to Onion, possibly putting off his encounter with this monster—or he'd be subdued and forced to endure the monster's pleasures and _then_ sent back to Onion.

All of these big decisions today were fatiguing Sans' brain. He turned around slowly to face the shapeshifter. Unfortunately, doing nothing was also a decision with consequences.

“While we're in here, I want you to call me Grillby. Or 'Grillbz,' if you want. No 'you' or 'sir' stuff.”

When it looked at him, Grillby's—the shapeshifter's expression could be described as kind, if Sans didn't know better.

“You're looking at me like I'm doing this to torment you.”

“...aren't you?”

The monster walked slowly toward Sans, not closing the space between them. He perfectly imitated Grillby's head tilt and assuring half-smile. How the hell did he know Grillby did that?

“I thought this appearance might put you at ease.”

Yeah right.

“Anyway, I'm not much to look at in my regular form. Playing pretend is a lot more fun. How about giving it a try?"

“How about knocking it off and seeing how _that_ goes instead?”

The monster turned around and walked to the tray of drinks. It had been set at a small table with a few chairs around it.

“Come have a drink with me.”

Sans couldn't say he hadn't tried.

When Sans went to sit at the chair Grillby had slid out for him, Grillby moved the chair away so Sans bounced on his butt before he could seat himself successfully. That was also something Grillby had done to him a few times. If he wasn't before, Sans was now definitely creeped out by the level of detail this monster had on Grillby's behavior. It couldn't really be Grillby, could it?

Sans thought he'd experienced all kinds of fear so far, but this was new. He was afraid for his sanity. He was afraid things weren't just falling apart on the inside, but all around him in a way they never had before. He was afraid of this monster and its assurances, of what might be behind the mask this time, not sure if he was more afraid to discover a toothy, digging tongue, or a monster who was hoping to make a genuine connection with him by taking some calculated shortcuts.

Sans looked up at Grillby, seated across the table from him and pouring beer into their glasses.

“Wh-what are you going to do with me. What do you want from me?”

Grillby smiled and slid a beer over to Sans. Sans caught it, just like he had a hundred times before when drinks slid across Grillby's bar to him.

“I want to drink with you. Let's talk.”

 

 

Sans let himself drink too much. Grillby didn't even let him finish his glass before filling it up for him. That way, Sans lost track of how many glasses he'd had.

How could this monster go this long and not slip up even once? Every laugh was on the mark, he even knew how Grillby wiped his nose briefly and looked to the side when he was trying not to look too amused by a really bad joke. A couple more drinks and Sans would forget he wasn't in the bar in Snowdin.

The monster got up from his chair and knelt by Sans. He was tall enough that their heads were still on level with each other. At first Sans didn't know what was going on. He felt awkward. Grillby never put himself in a vulnerable position like this, not even when they'd been alone together. Then a voice came from a part of Sans' brain that still remembered what he was doing here.

_It's happening now._

A shiver went up Sans' spine. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it wasn't.

Grillby's voice crackled, but the words weren't something he would ever say.

“You like him, right? You wanted him.”

Sans knew he had to come to a decision about tonight. But this was also a decision. Sans was so lonely. Grillby was his friend, was good to be around. He could decide to enjoy “Grillby's” company. Decide to enjoy...

The monster reached for Sans, and warm hands brushed over Sans' face, pulling him gently forward. Not insistently. Only enough so that Sans would have to be responsible for what happened next.

He really was trash.

Sans' mouth closed the distance between them, closed them into a hot kiss that crackled over his cheeks.

Grillby picked him up and carried him to the bed, still deep in a kiss as he moved him. He sat Sans down at the edge of the mattress. He knelt between Sans' legs and hiked his shirt up to expose his ribs.

This thing wasn't really Grillby. It wasn't Grillby, Sans reminded himself as the fiery hands glided over him, tickled his ribs and brushed up his spine. A flaming tongue slid over a rib, and Sans' whole body tensed in reaction to the pleasure.

“Sans?”

As the face of his friend looked up at him in concern, for once it wasn't fear that paralyzed Sans' body. He spoke quietly.

“Please don't do this to him. D-don't do this to Grillby. He d-doesn't deserve this.”

“I'm not doing anything to Grillby, you funny little weirdo. He's not even here.”

“I...I know, but. But I'll be...I'll be thinking about it, the next time I—”

The next time he what? The next time he saw Grillby? Sans hadn't allowed himself to think deeply on that either—would he ever see Grillby again? In his entire life? Maybe if he let that thought in now, let it crush him into nothing, he would be just hopeless and pliant enough to let this monster take what it wanted from him and then go. Sans the tuna, just as advertised: lays there and does nothing. Enjoy.

Grillby cupped Sans' face and looked into his eyes.

“Hmm. A little too bittersweet to get you off, huh? Well, I did have another idea...”

The monster stood in the middle of the room. With a flourish of an outstretched arm, the image of Grillby fell away like a shed skin and faded into thin air. Underneath, a larger form grew, its feet taking up more area and its head nearly brushing the ceiling.

King Asgore filled up a sizable portion of the little room.

At least Sans could be certain this wasn't the real Grillby.

“Now come on, no need to look like that. I'm still not going to hurt you.”

The voice wasn't Asgore's—it was high pitched and playful.

“I get a lot of requests for this one, actually. It's pretty popular. Not a chance you'll get every day, right?”

Sans was frozen in place. His shirt was slowly sliding back down on its own to cover his ribs.

“You're going to call me 'sire,' got it? Wouldn't want you to presume to call the king by name.” The monster abruptly changed its voice to Asgore's deep, gravelly one. “ _Now get over here and kneel._ ”

There was no way Sans could disobey that voice. Not even terror could lock his body from responding. Sans slunk up to the king and got on his knees. At this level, his head only reached Asgore's shins. The room filled with rumbling laughter.

“That's not going to work, is it?”

Asgore picked Sans up by his underarms and swung him around, sitting down on the bed with a flurry of his cape. He put Sans down over his lap so that Sans was draped stomach-side down over a huge thigh, his face by the king's crotch. A large hand cupped the back of his head and ground his face into the groin.

“Get to work, you little slut.”

The voice was really too much like Asgore. The monster had clearly practiced this one. Even after seeing its transformation firsthand, Sans had to remind himself that he wasn't really in Asgore's lap, wasn't really being told by the old goat himself to suck his dick. He shuddered.

“You're trying my patience, whelp.”

Sans was pulled further forward so his face was pushed into the covers between Asgore's knees and he was bent at the crotch over the thigh. A hand came down with a sharp slap on his behind. Sans cried out more from shock than pain.

Sans tried to reach his hands up to comply and unzip the monster's pants, but he was held in place. The monster had barely waited a few seconds in the first place anyway. It had only wanted an excuse to do this, apparently.

“Take your punishment.”

The hand spanked Sans again. Sans hated everything about this. He hated the king, and the humiliation, and the paper thin pretense used to initiate it. And he hated especially that something about the power dynamic, about being dominated by a monster that sounded so convincingly like the king of all monsters, was actually turning him on.

Sans wanted to think that maybe Muffet had snuck a little of the pudding into his meal somehow. That this wasn't really doing it for him, because it was about the worst way he could imagine to discover he had at least one kink. When the hand came down on him a few more times, he felt the beginning of wetness collecting at the crotch of his pants. His cunt had formed purely out of arousal.

Of course Sans wasn't lucky enough for that to escape the other monster's notice. From behind, a thick finger stroked up between the folds of Sans' pussy through the fabric of his shorts.

“Enjoying your punishment just a bit too much, aren't you? That's no good.” The monster pulled Sans' shorts down. “Bad little sluts are a lot more difficult to punish.” He slipped his finger into Sans and used his other hand to rub hard at the clit. Sans felt heat in his face. Even in the red room, it was probably glowing. He bit a whine into his hand as his clit was tweaked, a jolt of pleasure coursing through him.

The hands were enveloping him so completely. The monster that called him useless, that looked at him with utter disdain—like he was lower than gum on his shoe—was fingering him solely to bring him to orgasm. It wasn't him. It was just some other monster who looked, and sounded, and probably fucked exactly like him.

This wasn't even something Sans should want, or something his body should want. He should despise the king for lying to his brother, for holding his power over them both, but how useless and loathsome could Sans really be when the king was thrusting his finger into him, praising him for being such a good slut, for making such good little noises, and this was so fucked up—

“What do you call me, Sans?”

“Ah-ah-ah...ha...ahh...s-sire...”

“And what does a dirty little slut like you want?”

“Nn! Ah...to...I-I want...”

“'I want to come, sire.' Say it.”

“I...ha! I w-want to come, sire.”

“Good. So good.”

The fake Asgore pulled his finger out and grabbed Sans by the ankles. He laid Sans partially on his back on the bed, curling all the way over him so Sans' knees were on the king's shoulders, his feet up in the air. The change in position barely took a moment from removing the fingers to the king's tongue plunging between Sans' legs. Sans gasped.

The tongue made short work of him before Sans was crying out again, the pleasure building back up to a crescendo. His pussy contracted around the tongue. He leaned his head back and let his tongue loll out. Asgore squeezed San's thighs, and Sans automatically responded.

“I'm g-gonna...I'm gonna come...I'm gonna come...”

The tongue thrust harder and Sans' hips jerked involuntarily. The tightness released, ecstasy crashing through him in convulsions.

“I'm com-...ah...ohh...I'm c-coming...”

With the tongue keeping up the beating pace, Sans was overstimulated past a breaking point—the orgasm turned into two, and then three. Sans' face pulled into a sloppy grin. The tongue came out of him and Asgore moved to suck on his clit, stretching the feeling on and on. Sans pressed his groin into the king's mouth. The king spoke into his crotch.

“How did I make you feel, Sans?”

“It was...g-good...”

“How was it?”

Didn't he already answer that? He must want something more specific. Sans lay his head back and panted.

“It...y-you made me come really...hard. I came a l-lot.”

Apparently that was a good enough answer. The monster rolled even further forward and kissed Sans right on the mouth. Sans could taste his own magic. The motion intoxicated him, turned him on even more.

Good enough to be the king's personal little whore, at least. Good enough to be kissed directly on the mouth.

Asgore picked him up again and sat himself in a reclining position, undoing his zipper. He pulled a thick erection out of his pants.

“Now you may.”

Oh goodie.

Sans crawled over and opened his mouth over the cock, slowly lowering his face over it to lick around the head. He popped it out of his mouth and licked from the base of the shaft up to the tip.

He was still hazy from the orgasms, and evidently this wasn't snuffing out his arousal any. If anything, the texture, the heat, the sounds were all just getting to him more. For once he was imagining the member inside him, and the thought filled him with heated anticipation rather than dread.

He bobbed his mouth over the head again, sucking at it, sliding his tongue over the slit, and he gazed up at Asgore's face with glassy eyes.

“I told you this was a popular one, didn't I?”

Sans was taken by the shoulders and pushed onto his back. This was it. He spread his legs open for the king to enter him. The monster put his hands on either side of Sans' head and drew his face close to Sans', but Sans didn't feel anything go inside him.

The king was studying his face. It probably looked a mess.

“Wow. I thought for sure the lovey-dovey thing would do it for you, but you're a lot dirtier than I expected.”

The voice was wrong again. Sans lifted his hips against the king's chest, trying to get him to keep going. Now that he'd finally found some distracting pleasure in all this, he wasn't eager to halt things or be teased about it.

“I've got one more I want to do.”

The monster got up and slid off the bed. He walked toward the wall.

“Come over here.”

Sans hopped off the bed and started to follow, but got an uneasy feeling he couldn't explain to himself as the other monster leaned back against the wall. Sans' arousal was inexplicably dissipating into nothing, being replaced by a quiet anxiety.

The monster put on a show of making a decision. It spoke quietly, barely above a whisper, but Sans heard every word.

“I wonder how dirty you really are?”

And when Sans caught the look in the monster's eye, somehow he knew.

“How about you call me...”

“No. Don't. Don't you dare, don't you fucking dare—”

“Boss.”

A perfect copy of Papyrus stood in the shadows.

Sans stumbled backwards. The Papyrus copy didn't follow. It stood regally upright against the wall. Sans fell to the floor and scooted himself further away with rapidly kicking feet.

“Come here, Sans.”

Sans froze. Something about the phrase had been drilled very effectively into him. But Onion's training lost an internal battle against deep revulsion. Sans stayed where he was, and the Papyrus copy did too. That look it was giving him—it was psyching him out, wanted to break his spirit by getting him to come to him on his own—

Or maybe not. Sans caught the flash of a lens in the corner above the monster. Did it know the camera was there? Was it against the wall on purpose? Did it know it happened to be in the best blind spot in the room? That couldn't be a coincidence, could it?

But why would it...unless it was doing something it wasn't supposed to. Muffet had let Sans endure a number of horrors already without stepping in once, but maybe this was finally something she wouldn't allow. If she knew it was happening.

Sans remembered the monster in the monitoring room, toggling the sound of the different displays. Had they heard the monster use Papyrus' voice, or had they missed it? Was he speaking too softly? They needed to get the visual.

Sans just had to stay over here in the middle of the room, where nothing could hide from the cameras, and wait. Either the monster would be drawn out and his game would be up, or he would give up and do something less utterly despicable. Sans looked at the door.

“Don't like this one? Okay, how about this?”

Sans looked back. Gaster was peering out at him from the dark.

“It was my second choice, but by the look on your face, maybe it should have been first.”

He stepped out of the corner, light falling over his dark coat. It wasn't a very good impression of the voice, but the coat was right, down to the scuffed buttons. Or it was wrong. Very, very wrong. Sans looked over at the door again. Gaster—the fake Gaster was out of the blind spot, and still approaching.

“Waiting for someone? We can pass the time with a game. Doctor? Or maybe 'don't tell the babysitter'? How about a nice spanking, since you liked that so much before?”

Screw Muffet. Sans reached under his own rib cage and fumbled at his soul. He had to blast this monster's face off, had to get the tracker out, even if he had to smash the damn thing open. But no matter how desperately he scratched at it, he couldn't seem to get in contact with his soul. Something else that had been done to him, probably—a precaution against self harm. Or self-termination, which was looking pretty good right about now.

“Fucking—come on, come on—”

The Gaster impersonation grabbed Sans by the wrists and held him up so his feet no longer touched the floor. Sans kicked his legs out wildly. His eye was burning red, a bright glow against the soft lighting of the room.

“Now now, be a good boy for daddy.”

“fuck you fuck you _fuck you_ ”

“Is that any way to speak to your father?”

The monster tossed Sans onto the bed. Sans scrambled up in a tangle of sheets, only to be met with a spoon so close to his face it nearly shoved into his mouth from his forward momentum.

“Say 'ah,' Sans.”

The monster reached to grab Sans' chin, but Sans pedaled backward at lightning speed.

“No! NO!”

Sans hit the wall. He'd cornered himself on the bed. The Gaster copy loomed over him and held his face in one hand. Sans scrabbled at the hand holding him and tried to yank his head to the side. The spoon came closer.

“No! No! No! You can't do this to me!”

The spoon was forced into his mouth. Sans gagged on it. When it was taken out, he spat.

“You're not going to like how I do this now.”

One hand clamped over Sans' mouth and pegged his head against the wall. Another hand held up a cup of the drug. The monster tipped it into Sans' eye socket. Sans screamed into the hand and thrashed his limbs. But by the time the monster let him go, he could feel the substance making its sluggish journey inside him.

Sans curled into a ball.

“Oh god. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

The monster pet Sans' back.

“There's no need to be so difficult. You're going to enjoy it, of course.”

“Get off the bed and stand up, please.”

Muffet. Muffet was here. Sans' head snapped up. She was flanked by two large guards. The client had gotten off the bed and was standing next to it. Muffet looked at Sans.

“Sans, is that your father? Is that Gaster?”

Sans scrambled to the side of the bed and vomited.

“Is that Gaster, Sans?”

At first Sans misunderstood what it was she was asking. The room spun.

“It's not him. It's n-not...it's not really...it's not really him...”

He took heaving breaths and put his arms over his head, legs scrunching up behind him.

“oh g-god”

“See? He says I'm not him.”

Someone touched Sans' back. Sans bolted toward the now open door. One of the guards caught him and held him up, its fists wrapped all the way around each of Sans' upper arms just under the shoulder. Sans let out a wail of despair.

Muffet spoke again.

“You're going to have to leave.”

“You only said not to turn into Papyrus. You never mentioned Gaster.”

“Funny, I didn't think I needed to. This is strike two. You should leave now.”

“You can't do this to me. You didn't tell me that. I didn't even finish! I sure got your little whore off plenty, though.”

Muffet tapped two feet impatiently.

“Fine. Fine! You can come on him, not inside him, and I'm going to stay here. Then you go.”

What?

“That's more like it.”

Sans made a desperate bid for escape, but the guard held him tight. They lowered him to the floor and forced him onto his knees. He looked fearfully up at the face of Gaster, looking down at him with an expression he'd never seen on his father's face.

“Change form first.”

“Ha. Buzzkill.”

The monster changed back into Asgore. He started stroking his cock furiously over Sans' face. Sans shut his eyes. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be really happening.

The room was uncomfortably quiet except for the slapping of flesh. Sans had to make himself open his eyes and watch so that he could override his imagination with Asgore's face. It was only a little better.

After an interminable wait filled with deep grunts and moans, Asgore's eyes rolled up in his head and he hunched over with a relieved growl of pleasure. Cum squirted onto Sans' face. Sans looked down at the floor, feeling the cum dribbling over his brows and coming disgustingly close to entering his eyes.

The cock was rubbed against Sans' teeth, smearing cum around his mouth. Sans shook, trying to recoil but unable to.

“That's enough. You're going to be walked out, and you'll leave in your base form.”

“Aw, don't spoil the mystery for my other lovers.”

“You won't be seeing your other 'lovers' if you flaunt my rules again. I won't have you leave looking like that and starting a commotion.”

“Spoil sport.”

The monster dropped its disguise. It was a moldbygg.

The monster squirmed out of the room, escorted by the other guard. Muffet turned to Sans.

“You can stop fighting, dear, he's gone.”

Sans continued to strain at the hold as hard as he could, his eye bursting back into life and lighting up his whole face.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? YOU FUCKING ANIMALS!”

Muffet looked taken aback.

“I told him to leave. Weren't you listening? I came in here, didn't I?”

“As if that's it. 'Strike two'? What the _hell_ is that?”

“Honey—”

“No, don't you—don't fucking act all sweet to me. As if you're not gonna throw me at him the next time he waves more money in your face, you _bitch!_ ”

He kicked his legs out.

“As if you d-don't already have monsters...coming into my room, doing anything they w-want, any time you want...” He started to droop in the other monsters' grip. “And the...n-next time a monster wants to d-do me looking like my dead dad? Who knows, maybe you'll look the other way if they p-pay you enough...”

Muffet went up to Sans and started wiping the cum from his face with a handkerchief. He felt some drip in his eye, and he lashed out impotently.

“ _Fuck you_ , Muffet! Fuck you! F-fuck you...!

Sans shook.

“oh god, I'm sorry, I didn't—please d-don't tell Asgore.”

At that, Muffet looked surprised.

“Tell...Asgore? About that client impersonating him? I wouldn't worry about that, Sans, he's done that before. I think the king knows, honestly, and either he doesn't care or...maybe he likes the idea of it just a little. Don't tell him I said _that_ , now...”

Muffet read Sans' confusion.

“...what is it, dear?”

And then Sans knew.

Muffet didn't have any intention of using Papyrus against him, of threatening him with harm to keep Sans in line. As far as she was concerned, Sans didn't need to be blackmailed to be here. And at this point, she was right.

He was already as caught as he was going to get.

She wouldn't care if the dogs ratted on him, would she? Even if Asgore didn't want that. Muffet had already gotten what she wanted out of her deal with Asgore, and if the dogs spoiled it for the king, that was no skin off her nose. She wouldn't be culpable, and if Papyrus stopped being a good soldier because of...whatever reaction he might have, how would that even affect her?

Muffet lifted Sans' face, waking him from the dizzying spiral of thoughts.

“Don't you fret, now. That client's off your list, at least. I won't make you see him again. And because you're very stressed, I'm also going to forget about your little outburst at me. But Sans.”

She gripped his chin tight.

“That's the only time you'll ever get away with calling me a bitch. Understand?”

Sans gulped. He nodded.

The guard let go of him. Muffet walked to the door and motioned for Sans to follow her. He padded shakily behind her down the hall.

“It wouldn't normally take me so long to intervene, but I didn't know what Gaster looked like. I did notice that something seemed odd, though...and I took a guess.” She turned back to look at Sans. “I'll get you nice and cleaned up, we'll get you cozy in a blanket, and you'll have the day off tomorrow. How does that sound?”

Muffet was using some hands she wasn't looking at to mark something on a clip board. It looked like it said 'moldbygg' on it. Muffet caught Sans eyeing it and edged it out of sight, still scribbling.

“You said that client was on strike two. Of three?”

“Yes, dear.”

“What was strike one?”

Muffet put a hand to her face in thought.

“...a similar incident, actually. He took the form of one of Cecil's dead family members. Cecil didn't do too well after that...I had to change their schedule a lot, cut down their clients and give them other jobs on the side...”

She looked at the clipboard.

“Two doesn't exactly establish a pattern, but I think it's safe to guess he'll do the same thing again. I wonder if I should go ahead and ban him...”

She saw Sans staring at her.

“You can make that face all you like, but there's a limited client pool in the Underground, after all. I have to be very careful about who I cut off completely.”

Sans mumbled. “...must be so hard for you.”

Muffet wouldn't care. She wouldn't care about Papyrus knowing the truth, or being killed; she didn't give a shit about Sans or any of the other workers under her. She probably wouldn't even think it was strange if Sans asked her if he could see more clients at once. Hell, maybe she'd be proud. Her eyes would light up with dollar signs, and if she had any conscience to assuage, she'd convince herself that he was asking because he'd gained confidence or something.

He may as well get this taken care of.

“Muffet, I...I have something else to ask you.”

 

 

It seemed Sans had puked up the sex drug in time to spare him most of its effects. He had some mutedly sexual dreams that thankfully didn't use any of the material he'd gathered in the past couple days. The dreams were vague and unsatisfying, unconsummated—but that was hardly something he could complain about.

Sans' 'day off' came with a surprise. A bunny was waiting for him in the hall. Clarence's greeting was more subdued than usual.

“I thought I might give another shot at visiting you, if you're in better sorts today.”

Sans stared at the ground. Clarence looked over his face.

“Hm.”

Was Sans reading this right, or did the bunny really feel awkward? That made two of them. A normal monster might be self-conscious about the way they'd parted the other day, but Sans had thought he wasn't dealing with a normal monster. Surprisingly, Sans found he had something to say to break the silence.

“Your advice—about the cameras. It actually got me out of something...something...pretty bad.”

Clarence looked conflicted.

“You wouldn't have liked it. It was really gross.”

“Oh, well, I'm always happy to prevent something gross.”

They both stood in silence again. Sans wasn't going to say it. There was no point. Clarence wasn't a good monster, wasn't going to respond to something like—but for some reason, the words were already coming out.

“You left me there.”

The bunny didn't respond, and it probably wasn't because he was waiting for clarification, even though it felt like it was.

“At the rotten egg street. You left me there all night.”

Sans must have had an overdose of Muffet's special pudding, because he knew it would take a hallucinogenic nightmare for Clarence to say:

“I _am_ sorry.”

The bunny looked contemplative.

“It was definitely personal. Just not towards you. I realize I may have...misdirected my anger, and for that I apologize.” Clarence looked sideways at Sans. “It really is a shame what's happened to you. I mean that. And I'm honestly sorry for my part in it.”

No, this wasn't allowed to happen. They weren't allowed to talk about things at this level of horror in a way normal monsters might talk about standing up a dinner invitation. The bunny could either be consistently cruel to him, or he could go back in time and not have done all the things he'd done to him. There was no in between for this.

Sans sat down on the floor against the wall and put his head in his hands. Clarence sat down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, holding out his other hand with an open palm.

Sans couldn't let this happen to himself. Not out of desperation, not out of the terrible, crushing isolation from the outside.

“Friends?”

Because there could be no coming back from this. It was too far.

Sans lowered one hand away from his face and, without looking up, gripped the bunny's offered one.

 

 

 

 

“Okay, let's get some things straight. You don't want to fuck me.”

“I'm sure you've gathered by now that sex doesn't interest me.”

“You still want to torture me, though.”

Clarence looked surprised. “Oh, of course!”

What a good friend.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans doesn't think he deserves decent friends so he takes this friend he found in the trash instead.
> 
> ....i bEt yOU tHouGhT tHe dOG wOUlD bE tHe wORst pArT oF tHIs cHaPteR
> 
> please send your complaints, garbage, crushed hopes and tears to my tumblr inbox:  
> http://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/


	7. cave canem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware of dog.

Sans careened around the corner, nearly slipping and crashing when he turned. He skidded to a halt and leaned flat against the wall to catch his breath. He took the quick break to wrestle with the collar. It was too small to fit back over his head, and it was locked on, which should have been his first hint about his situation tonight.

Nothing about this was fair. Not that that was new, but this was unfair in a massive three-dimensional graph of unfair points.

He should have known when Muffet came to his room too early for his appointment, should have known when she put the collar on him and then left with the door ajar. Should have known when she told him to wait there for the dogs to come see him.

In his room. There wasn't enough soap and disinfectant in the whole Underground. Muffet knew how he felt about that, she had to. Sans had spent the entire morning talking himself down from a panic, had told himself over and over that pain was only pain, that sex was just sex, that it would be over eventually and become a memory. But waiting in his room when Muffet had left him with more than an hour to think about what was coming, about the dogs raping him on his own bed, and, well. Probably anyone could have predicted he would cut and run.

Anyone could have guessed that, he thought as he gave the collar a sharp tug and glanced at a camera up on the ceiling. Nothing happened in Red City without Muffet knowing. Sans hadn't run across a single guard yet. Lesser Dog hadn't been able to resist baiting Sans all night when he'd had him—the dogs probably thought it was a bit dull now that Sans was so compliant, and wanted more sport out of their weekend splurge.

Maybe the worst part of the whole thing was that they'd put Sans in a position that, if he hadn't known better, he would think he would face punishment for.

Sans was fairly sure he wouldn't be punished for running. Muffet hadn't punished him for fighting the insect monster that barged in on him in the night. As cruel as she was, so far she hadn't punished him for bad behavior she'd encouraged. But there was a first time for everything. Maybe he'd get punished just to sustain the authenticity.

Sans heard sniffing around the corner he'd just come from. He bolted, scuttling into an empty room. He heard paws scrape on the floor outside, too fast and too close. Without thinking, he pulled the door of the room shut.

He heard a click as it locked him in.

Sans slapped a hand to his head. He was stupid, so, so stupid.

He sat with his back against the door, looking around the room. There wasn't anywhere else to hide but the little janitor supply closet all the private rooms had. He would be caught on camera going into the closet, of course, but Muffet probably wouldn't spoil the game for the dogs. They would get the door unlocked, come in here, and smell his hiding place. In the end it would be more dignified to face them once they got into the room rather than make them sniff him out like a game animal.

Sans almost thought he'd gotten out of this. Not from running, he knew that was doomed; much earlier than that, yesterday when he'd talked to Clarence.

 

_“Hey...before, when you said you'd 'be there for me in a heartbeat,' you didn't happen to mean you'd be willing to do something like...kill the dogs for me?”_

_Clarence looked like Christmas had come early for him this year._

_“I'm so touched you would ask that of me.”_

_The bunny cartoonishly took a handkerchief out and dabbed his eyes. Sans couldn't tell if he'd actually teared up or just liked to exaggerate everything he did._

_“Unfortunately, that would incite some kingly ire.”_

_“Does Asgore really care what happens to them?”_

_“Until the next generation grows up, he's got a limited pool of able-bodied monsters. So yes, I would say he'd be incensed for sure. Not to mention if he found out I did it for you, well. I think that would be the end of me.”_

_Sans looked at the floor._

_“Are they so much worse than your other clients? You didn't ask me to go after anyone else.” The bunny rubbed his hands together. “Unless you're working up to it.”_

_His face suddenly fell._

_“Well, now, before either of us gets too excited, I suppose I should tell you I can't exactly_ kill _anyone for you—the king has me on a strict victims list ever since I. Ahem. Got just a tad overzealous once in the past. Lost him some monsters he considered assets...frankly I think he overreacted, but there it is.”_

_Clarence steepled his hands together._

_“Oh, but there are_ many _other things I can do to them for you. If you give me something to go on.”_

_He may as well say it. At least telling Clarence wasn't as likely to get back to the dogs as it would if he told Muffet._

_“Lesser Dog said he would tell Papyrus...about all this, unless I...uh...”_

_Clarence was already scrunching his face._

_“Well, you don't wanna know.”_

_“Blackmail, hm? Now, that's liable to make Asgore mad. He wants your brother blissfully ignorant.”_

_Clarence clapped Sans' shoulders._

_“I believe this is something I can actually do something about. You hold tight,” his grin reached his ears and curled around in an ugly smirk, “and I'll put the fear of god back in them.”_

_When not directed at him, the bunny's unnatural expressions were oddly comforting._

 

The door clicked open and the dogs filed in. So much for the fear of god. Either Clarence's plan hadn't worked, or more likely, he'd decided Sans wasn't worth the effort.

Doggo was conspicuously missing, though. Sans allowed himself to think that maybe Clarence had picked him off in spite of his protestations about killing. At least that made this four dogs instead of five. That sounded a _little_ more manageable.

Sans waited in the middle of the room as the dogs entered. They began circling him, and he found himself wishing he'd waited on the couch instead. Their relative quiet was eerie. Usually they'd be hurling abuse at him by now. The silent stalking made them look feral. A buried instinctual response was warning Sans that they were preparing to kill him. To tear him apart. 

It was possible this wouldn't feel much different. Sans' legs wobbled.

Lesser Dog tossed a dog bowl on the floor in front of Sans. Sans stayed still. The dogs closed their circle around him, menacing growls threatening him from all sides. Sans got on his knees and dipped his head to the dish.

He sniffed it—it was the pudding. He was almost relieved. The dogs were determined to degrade him, but that was nothing new. As shameful as this was going to be, it would also make the night a lot easier. He'd been afraid this would be his night with Lesser Dog times five. He could give a shot at drowning out their taunts with the feeling of pleasure, so long as he tuned in when it seemed like they were giving him orders.

Sans looked up at Lesser Dog. The dog licked its tongue over his jowls, then bared his teeth. Sans bent over and licked at the pudding.

Now the dogs were laughing at him, jeering at him, but he did his best to block them out. He lapped up about as much as he thought was his regular dose, then looked up again. Lesser Dog pointed down. Sans hesitantly went back to licking, drawing it out slow in the hope they wouldn't make him overdose.

Without warning, Sans was knocked onto his back. Greater Dog had pounced on him. It gave a bark that shook the room, made Sans' bones vibrate. Sans didn't register that the dog had moved down until he felt its tongue licking his pants at the crotch. Its paws scraped over his hips, but they didn't have the dexterity the other dogs had.

Dogamy stepped behind Sans and shifted him onto his lap from behind. Dogaressa helped Greater Dog get Sans' pants off, and Lesser Dog kept circling like he was keeping prey in check.

All it had taken for Sans' pussy to form were the insistent licks at his pants. When the pants were removed, it was ready and dripping for Greater Dog's tongue to plunge deep inside. Sans gave a startled cry that wavered at its peak on a needy tone he didn't like at all.

The tongue was fast and slippery. And god, so long. It filled him and lapped over him all at once. The pure strength of the muscle, the way it flexed inside him, completely overpowered his senses. Sans reached climax too quickly, whining and rapidly thrusting his hips on the tongue as he came, desperate to achieve the waiting aftershocks and relieve more of the heat. Lesser Dog snorted.

“Wow, you hump like a dog, too. You sure you're not one of us?”

The orgasm left spots in Sans' vision. He was only hazily aware as he was flipped over and positioned on his hands and knees. Dogamy had pulled his cock out of his pants and was pointing it at Sans' face.

Sans was about to willingly move things along by opening his mouth and leaning forward, but something slammed into his cunt from behind, and he closed his mouth with a snap, inches from Dogamy's cock. Dogamy gave a nervous laugh.

“Baby, watch it, you almost maimed me.”

Sans heard Dogaressa behind him.

“Sorry honey. I got excited. Now how do I...”

Sans felt Dogaressa reach between them where they were joined together and fiddle with something. He felt buzzing come to life inside him. Dogaressa was wearing some kind of vibrating strap-on. Sans choked, some drool dripping down his chin.

“Ooh, he likes that a lot. Keep going, baby.”

The vibrator thrust into him, lighting him up from the inside with new heat. If he hadn't taken the drug, the over-stimulation would have been painful. As it was, he felt he would probably die if she didn't keep up the pace and make sure he came again.

Sans' head was grabbed and forced down over the cock in front of him. He made swallowing motions to ease it along, but he still gagged.

At first Dogamy let Sans lick and suck at him on his own, leaning back in his sitting position and groaning. But as Sans was thrust into from behind with increasing force, his rhythm became erratic until his blowjob was no more than him moaning with his mouth around the cock. Dogamy gave a dissatisfied growl and got up in a crouch, then fucked Sans in the face.

Sans bobbed back and forth between the two dogs' rutting. The cock in his mouth came in a steady stream. When cum started pouring down Sans' chin, Dogamy pushed Sans' face tighter into his crotch. Swallowing the hot fluids made Sans' cunt flex in response. He felt Dogaressa hug tight to his legs and rut wildly for a moment before slowing and hunching over him, shuddering. The vibrator slipped out of him.

Sans hadn't finished. She couldn't just take it out like that. His hips trembled as his cunt made desperate grabs at nothing, the contractions so tight it was like his body was trying to force itself to come on its own.

Sans' hips were pulled up higher. Was that Greater Dog? It must be, he could see other legs standing in front of him, but they were all too small to be Greater Dog. Either Lesser Dog or Dogamy was rubbing his dick on Sans' head while another dick was shoved in his mouth.

Greater Dog rubbed his dick under Sans, the shaft brushing the lips of the pussy while the tip stroked along his stomach. The dick pulsed. It slowly pulled back, then the tip was pressed against the opening of the pussy. Greater Dog rubbed it in a teasing circle, drawing a long whimper from Sans' throat. Waiting for release was starting to get painful.

The tip entered him. That was definitely already enough. Nothing more should go inside him, could possibly fit. But Greater Dog hiked Sans' hips up higher and spread his legs wide apart, then thrust into him. The tip hit the end of the pussy inside with a rough bump.

Sans saw stars. This would undoubtedly be painful if he weren't drugged to oblivion. He could tell the cock wasn't even all the way in, even though it filled him entirely—he couldn't feel the dog's hips against him. He briefly wondered if the dog would even be able to get itself off inside him, but another thrust drove every thought from his mind.

Why was it taking so long for Sans to come this time? His body still couldn't reach past the edge, even though each pounding motion into him felt like the last one he'd need. Even the cock slapping into his mouth gave his pussy sympathetic twinges with each motion. But he held out, despite every effort not to, until Greater Dog's cock swelled and started pumping him full of cum. The squirting sensation pushed him into a swirling sea of stars that twinkled and popped at every nerve.

The cock was pulled out of his mouth just in time to hear him moan helplessly. He heard swearing and heavy breathing above him, then felt more cum hit his face and ooze down it.

Then his body gave up. He collapsed as he was, ass in the air behind him, still stuck to Greater Dog's cock, and the front of him practically face first on the floor. It was just as well, because experience told him he'd be stuck like this for a while. Greater Dog was still coming in hard bursts. Sans' legs twitched with each release.

Lesser Dog tilted Sans' face to look up at them at an angle. Sans could barely see them through the sweat dripping over his brows and the glossiness of his eyes. He vaguely heard Dogamy speak.

“Goddamn, is he even going to feel anything else?”

Dogaressa spoke up from further away.

“Muffet probably said a teaspoonful for a reason.”

Lesser Dog snorted.

“It'll be fine. We just need a little wake-up exercise.”

Sans' face was dropped and he let it droop on the floor. He heard the door to the room open and footsteps leaving.

He wouldn't think too hard about it. Just feel. The continued squirting inside him made him come a few more times, but each time made him feel more overdrawn and worn out. He felt like he had been drained down to negative energy, and the sensation came with its own unique ache. When he came unexpectedly one more time, he really, really wished he hadn't. The high-pitched whine that left him sounded like a tortured animal.

Footsteps came back into the room. Greater Dog drew out of Sans and let him slide onto the floor in a sprawl. Then Sans felt ice cold water drench him.

Sans' limbs automatically flailed and pushed him up in a sit, and he hugged himself. He looked up. Lesser Dog was smirking, an empty bucket in one hand.

“Time for a little walk, pup.”

 

Sans limped behind Lesser Dog on the leash. The dogs had let him get back into his pants before leaving the room, but the pants had gotten soaked by the bucket, too. Sans squelched down the hall in an uneven gait. He was still uncomfortably aroused, but now that he wasn't in the middle of sex he was starting to feel a sting between his legs.

He'd been imagining all sorts of things they were planning to put him through now—taking him into the lounge and gathering a crowd, or maybe have their way with him right in the hall. Sans had seen stains in the hallways, and they had to come from something. But the dogs stopped in front of the door to another private room. Why would they need to switch rooms? Maybe Doggo was in here.

The door opened on darkness. Lesser Dog went ahead and dragged Sans in by the neck, the other dogs coming in behind them and closing the door. The room was barely lit, and it took a moment for Sans' eyes to adjust. There was a cold mist hanging in the room that gave it the feel of a terrarium.

Sans couldn't see Doggo anywhere. He looked at the dogs for instructions, but they were all looking at a corner of the room where the mist was thicker, almost appeared to be concentrated. Sans followed their eyes and squinted.

It wasn't mist. It was...something, melting together, growing, slopping over itself in grotesque waves to take a form that was almost solid.

They'd taken Sans here for some reason and the thing was still growing, still oozing and squirting its body like today was the day it had chosen to step out of the primordial soup, and why was it here and why was Sans here.

Sans took heaving breaths. “What is that. What _is_ that.”

“That's _extremely rude_. That's our friend. Alphys let us borrow them on good behavior.”

A monster that didn't look like any monster Sans had ever seen before filled up an entire corner of the room. It appeared to be some form of dog, but it had six misshapen legs, and the shadows under those legs were so dense it was like they were solid. Instead of a face, the monster had a gaping hole—not so much like a mouth, just some kind of hole that pulsed and emitted a foaming white slime. The monster stepped out of the corner and made an unearthly gurgling howl, like the mortal rattles of a dozen dogs glued together and painfully fucking each other to death.

“They've been cooped up for a while, so we thought they deserved a good time. And you're all about good times, aren't you Sansy?”

Sans' gaze was lost somewhere deep in the shadows between the monster's legs. He could feel something staring at him from within the darkness, but there were no eyes to speak of.

“w-what?”

“You're going to show them a good time, pup.”

This was one of Alphys' amalgamates, Sans realized as he made a run for it. His most short-lived escape attempt yet. Lesser Dog held the leash tight and pulled on it. He lifted the end of the couch and put the loop of the leash under the leg, then dropped the couch on it.

Sans went for the couch leg. Lesser Dog picked him up by his collar and dangled him in front of what might be the amalgamate's face. The black orifice contracted and made huffing noises like it was sniffing. Sans felt flecks of liquid sprinkle on his face.

Lesser Dog dropped Sans on the floor, and the monster enveloped Sans like a cloud of mist. Sans heard voices from all sides.

 

"T̝̝̮͙̫͉h̘̫̺e̷̯ ̞̺̖̣̱͖͈͟o̼̫̯̩͞t̷̥͙̣̻̙ͅh̢e̙̥r͍ͅs̞̟̘̪͡ ̫̭̘̭̦̕s̸̯̹̥̦̳̫̙a̭̮̻̞͇̠͡i̮͍͟d҉͚ ̧̥͈̥̗t̳̠h̯̰͇̱̳͓͕è̜̗̳̗r̹̺̲̲̯̼͝s̺͔̼̣̝̺̯s҉̯̪̟̲̪̗̖a̜id͏̠̳w̬̭̫̘̭e̡̖̥̝͙͓̥͓ ͓ge҉̖t̵̺̱̟̜ ̧͈̯t͏͔̗̥ơ̜̱̬͓ͅ ͕͖̺d̰̹͓͞o̷̺̦̞̭̟̖ ̰͚̥͈i̼͚̣̱t͇̻̼̥̹̀ ͈͢t̩̟̗͎̫o̴̤͙̣͍̰̜̣d̨̞̫̬o̢̠ḭ̲̣̗t͎̮͙̥͢w̶i̡̺̭t͈̫̺̮͕h̫̣̘͓̦͚͞ ̖y̺͉͇o̘u̶͕͍͚.͙̞̯ ͍Y̧̹͓̲̭o̝u͚͔̥̦̬͙ͅ ̥h̙̗̟̙̮͎̼͜a̞̲͖͈̺̙v̗͔̝e̗̠̞̼̰ͅ t̡͍͖͍o̼͍ ̮̮̠͕͇d̤̹̫͚o̶̞͚̦̠̗̦̦ ̳̙͎av͙̼͖͝e̛̩̺t̤̖̩̖̗ͅo̖͚͝d̼̞o͏̬͇͈͍w͍̹̻ha̳͕̗͉̩ͅt͏̱̹̳ ͢w̹̠̠̤e͢ ̣̳̘̮̖̪s̶a̺̯͉̞y̶̦̣,̪ ͈̫͖̥͇͉̯r͎͓͖i̻͚̝̪̞̥̙g̦͓̖̤̜͕ͅh̨͍̺̠̭̳͓t͇͖͔͔̞̟͞?̙̀ͅ ̸̯̟̞̦̼̹

s̻h͕̰̻̖o̲̩̭̯̝̤̳ẃ̟͕̤̙ m̢͙̣͈̤͖̥e̘͔̖̯̖͎ͅ ͔̘̫̝̬̺̬y̬͡o̭̭̳͖ͅu̶̳̜̳͔ͅṟ̤̹̳ p҉̺̫ú͓̹͚̱̗s̝͎̗̻̻̦s̤͡y̼̻͢ ̪̯̩̪̘I̯͍̯̻̞͍ͅ ̳̲w̡̦̤̭̫͙a͙̙͔̘̰n̨͖̦n̩a̬ ̰͍͈̱̲s̺̫͔ḛ̭͢e̬̹ͅ ͕̹͖̜i͉͟t̟͔̗̰̥̪̗u̜͍͡r̝̞̲̺p̀u̡̦͓̜̯̘s̫̀s̖̼̙̖̙ͅy̜̯͎͟i̵͉͍w̧a͖̩̹n̸͖̰̖̥̖̜n̗̫͟a̤͢ͅ

I̝̺̩̲̭ ̬̟͓W̩̰͓̹̞͙ ͎̭̤̺͉͟A̴̻̦͎̤͕̻Ņ̭͇̗͕͔̬̙ ̢̠̞N͖̦̕ ̰̲̗́A̷͓͇̦̘̟̝̟ ̫̹S͍͎̩̯̖͈E̻̩͎̣̬̳̺ ̝̬͙̹̬E̸̱̖̪ ̫͚̙̟̱ ̲͎̜͉̜̻I̥͇̭͈̗̘͞ ̴T̟̮ͅ"

 

Sans gave a wet cough, trying desperately not to cry before even being touched.

“What d-did you sa—what am I...what did you want me to...d-do?”

“They wanna see your pussy. C'mon, they ain't got all night.”

Sans stood there, frozen in the middle of the creature's amorphous body.

 

“g̫̥̮͙̤e̸̠t̲̦ ̩͓͜ó̫͚̱̝͉n̦͚͙̥̰̮̲͡ ̩̹͍͉̺y̸̺͙̹͕ǫ̮̩̦̮͈u̱r͎̬̝ ̬̮͕̘́b̷͔a̜̜c̹̬̙̰̪̮k̹̭ ̹̫͓̫a̠̼n̞̪̲̠d̤̻͈̭̳͕̣ ͕͈̲̰͇̟́s͟ho̸̘w̞͇̺̜̞͚̫ ̴m͓̣͍̙n̺̦̤̬̼̰y̵̜̤͈͈̺̖o̯̫̱͚͎͙̱u̦̪̻̰̜̖̰r͎̖͔b̭a̵͇͇͈̙̝͚̜c͙̝͔͖͍k̵̺̟ ̭̺̟̬͓͝a̳̼̩̲̪ṇ͖̖̬͝ḍ͜ ͢ṣ̲̱̦͔̹̝͝h̗̕ó̳͙̗̮͚͕͖w̤͈̕ ̘̦m̻̥̳̤͕̲ͅe.̟̞̪̲̱̺̟”

 

Sans slowly got to his knees, then laid himself back. He undid the buttons of his pants with fumbling fingers, then pulled them down to reveal his cunt, still twitching from its previous stimulations.

 

“S̹̭p͔̬̖͈̣r̼͉̥̰̙e̻͓̪a͎͕͉͉̭ͅd͖ ҉̺͖̻͈̳͔͖y̫̥̞̦̼o̗̫̯u͈̠̥̮̘͇̮ ̦̰ļ͎͚̼͚̰̼e҉̥͈̜g͕͉͔s̶̳̜ ̷o̶̝͕̳̭̝p҉̺̞e̫̣̭ͅS̴̻P̤̠̟͉̱͔͢R͍͔͈̬̤̻̳͞E͎̖͎͎̞͍AD̜̭̲ ̱͕̹̣̣I͝T̞ ̸W̸̹̬̹̭̯̦͇I͠T͔̯͙̰H҉̹̱͍̰͔̮̬ ̡̤̻͍̰Y̵O̵̖̝̞̫͖̝͔U͘R͔͖̮ ̷̰͉̳̹̲F҉̺̞̼̯͙I̯̫͎̼̬͙̣N̴̳G͟E̟̯̺̫̲̘R̘̙S̶E̶͇̗͖͔̞A̸͓͎͔̦̥̦̜D̙͓̩̼̲I̟̭͙̕T͚̠̣̤̤̦̬͝Ẁ̤IT̤̜̣̼͉̫͚͘H̱̟̥̟̥̭Y̲̣̙̝̳̯͈O͔͔̮̯͓U̫R͇̰͎̖̬͟ͅF̠̞͠I̻̪̣͚͍̼͠N̩͈̙ͅG͚̥̳̘̠̙̱”

 

Sans gulped and pulled his pants the rest of the way off, then spread his legs wider and put a hand between them. He used two fingers to spread the lips.

 

“á̲͚̮̪n̼̻͔ ͚͈̮̙̟̜d̝̲̣͓͖̦́ò ͚̜be͓̥t̵̰̳̪̜̭t̺̠͓͔͚̜̹e̫͈̙r̡̙̯̥ ͇͕͔th̳̭͞a͔̝̺͚̩͉͈n͙ ̷͕̪͙̳ͅt̷͈̥̠̼͖h̭̼͖̰͓̞̠a̛̠͓ć̳̤a͕͇͓̗̯n̗͈̟͇͉̹'̬̭͈͈̰t̼̹͎̦͠y͙o̮͡u҉̜d̮̩̻͝o̶͙̩͖̯̥b̛̰͍̣͓̞ę̘͉̠̤ͅt̨͚̺͈ͅt̻̥͔͍̻͕͘e̙r̟͡t͕͍̻͞h͙̮͇͉͚͈a͈̻͠n̴̝̥̱̹t̨͔͎͖̝̯h̵a͙̦ ̷̣͎s͈͘t̴͇͈͓̱̻̩i͍̖c̥͍͟k̭ ̻̥̖̪̀y̩o̬̻̺̻̠͎̕u̙͟ŗ ̧͉͕̳͚̟̘ͅf̷̲̲i͎̻̲͉̲͔ng̩̞̯̺e̘̥̹̬r̨̠͕͓͇̻s͏͕̣͍̫ ̦̻͓̹̝͚̪͝i͚͚̰͇̖n͓͈̤ ̱͕̘̳͓̘̰͟a͍̩̗͎͈͢n̫̩̥d̺ ̘̞s̫̀p̣̩̮r̳̰͖̩͜ͅé̳ͅa̶̟̤͉͈͉d̰͖̤̦̯̠ ̙̦y̛͈̦̤̺̞̻̺oͅu̸̖͖ṟ̳ ̷̱͙̝̮̰̱h͖̦̯̣o͔̯̯l̳̺̜̦ef̦̫̤̤i҉nge͈̼r̴͍͓̞̞͙̹s̬͈̯͚͙͝i̴͓̤͔n͓͉̙͓̤̮͜a̫̝̜̞n͉̰̖d̪̫̥͎̱s͏͚̖̠͍p͎̗̘͕̯ͅͅr̨e̜a̦̜̘̣̥̰ͅ ̙͇̱͖͔̮̲̀

  
͎̭̼̰̠͠e҉͓̦̩̯̮͎t̛ ͇me̺͠ ͓͜s̺ͅe̞̺͠e̱̺͚̯̟ ̝͎i̛͕͔̹̠ͅn͏̘̫̤̼̞̙̪s͍̲̯͍̪̞̻͡i̝̱d̮̰͙͙̭e̺̠̥͎͚̱̰ ̫̹̘̩̝̱͈͝y̼͕̻̮͝o͔uḻ̞E̙̯̣̖͚̞͡T̗̩̜̰̻M͜E̼S͉̩̳͡EE̯̮̲͇̲͇͞I͔̕ ̞̻͙͈͎͓N̠͇̯̥̳̙̜ ͉͖͈̜S͇̣ ͚̠͙͖I͖̼̤̘̪̤̭ ̥̟̤̞͞ͅD̘̰̟ ͓̖̘̠̱͉͢E͙̳̰̯͓̤͢ ̭̖̮͙Y̳̗͇̹̼ ̻̰͓͙͍ͅO̷͓U҉̻̤͎̻̟̗”

 

Sans' whole body shuddered. He stuck two fingers inside himself and spread the hole open. As the beast hovered over him, he had a strange feeling like eyes were staring deep inside, like eyes were reaching dark parts of him he didn't show to anyone. He badly wanted to close his legs.

Something frothy fell from the hole on the monster's face and drizzled over Sans' cunt. He gave a small gasp and crossed his legs. The monster's head bent closer, was going to press itself into Sans' crotch.

Sans shakily turned over and crawled away on his belly.

“no...no...”

Something huge and wet and dripping pinned him in place. The monster was crouched on top of him, its strange body leaking through his clothes and onto his bones. Sans tried to curl up, but his legs were kept spread behind him by the weight over him. He threw his arms over his eyes. His shoulders shook. The other dogs were barking.

“Come on, Sansy, at least be as accommodating as you were for us.”

“Spread 'em wide, little doggy.”

“Look, he's crying! I told you we'd make him cry.”

Something slipped under Sans' abdomen and lifted it up. A part of the monster's body entered him—it was impossible to tell if it was a dick or a leg. It had the same gooey texture as the rest of the body, was not quite liquid and not quite solid, and too much of it gushed into him and filled him up. Sans choked.

“Nnooo...no-o...”

Sans' head was lifted by the chin, and then more of the monster was flooding into his mouth. He tried to yell, but disturbing the frothy body inside him made it bubble in a way that made Sans gag.

The fluids spiked into him from behind, lifting his hips higher. The fear had almost overwhelmed arousal, but Sans' magic was still stubbornly worked up from the drug. The amalgamate thrust into him harder, coaxing out gasps and moans.

The other dogs were closing in on him, stroking themselves over him or rubbing their crotches against him. The amalgamate was roughly driving into him, bits of its body splashing his ribs and coating his spine.

The monster made a coughing noise in Sans' mouth, and then released a froth into him. Whatever part of the monster was in Sans' mouth, it felt like it was spitting up in him. When the disturbing texture hit the back of Sans' throat, Sans was trapped in the first vivid flashback in a while of the slug, pumping him full of porridgey cum.

Sans' whole body went stiff. He couldn't register his arousal even though he still felt the heat, couldn't hear anything other than ringing, some kind of high keen like an alarm.

Sans tried to swallow, but only made himself gag and choke. The monster pulled out of his mouth, and Sans coughed out the froth. Everything that had come in his mouth slid back onto the monster like it was a part of its body, not meant to be separated.

Dogamy was in front of him, pushing his cock at Sans' mouth.

“Come on, me next.”

Sans coughed harder and tried to turn away.

“Nn. No. D-don't—”

The cock was shoved in. It was almost a relief compared to what was in Sans a moment ago. At least he could recognize the way it moved, the way it tasted. Dogamy gripped Sans' head with both paws and hunched over him, rutting into his mouth like he was fucking a cunt.

The amalgamate was going still behind him. Its behavior resembled the way the other dogs ejaculated—the goop inside of Sans swelled and pulsed, and something else was flooding into his pussy. But there were disturbing idiosyncrasies. The mass of the member decreased as it came, almost like what it was ejecting was...it was ejaculating itself. The cum was the same texture and form as the rest of the goopy body. It didn't settle in him like a normal fluid, but instead slid and raced up and down, this way and that, like gravity had been turned off inside Sans' body.

Sans' hips trembled, his magic only managing a small, half-aborted orgasm that left his body hungrier than before. The sensations were too unfamiliar, and Sans was too frightened to get a satisfying release from the amalgamate finishing.

Dogamy spilled into Sans' mouth again, and finally Sans was let go from both ends. The other dogs came on him, soiling his clothes and squirting over his legs. The amalgamate's head with its bottomless orifice stared Sans in the face, then pressed up against him, gliding from his neck up to his mouth, then to his temple. It felt like Sans was being licked, or sucked in, or being fucked in the face again.

 

T͚̗͙̙͍́h̡̲͙̖̤͖̪̩a̶͈͍͍̭̠͉̣t̘͔̺ ̝̫w͚̻̟̮̗͍̜a͖̩͍̲̯s ͚̹̪͘r̶͉͍͈̝̱̰ͅe̪̻͓a͔̪̙͖̟̕ͅl̫͈͟l͓̩̻̻͙͎͞y͙͓͍̻͉͈ ̩͔̜̭͉̙̀f҉u̘͕̠̱̬ͅa̴͎̺͉̠͓̺s͍͎͍̯̫̲r͈͇̙e͏̫̜̲a̞͍̬͖̭̟ͅḽ͓̱̘̙̕l̤̮͎͔͜y̝̠̟̖̠͜f͚͖̖̯̝̲uņ͚̝̻͎̗̤̮.̵̹͖̝̟̟̹͚ ́L̷͉̝̬͇̣̞e̪t̗͈̫̪̼͖̹'̡͍̩̥ș̞̗̩͔̝ ͎̗̲̝d͚̮̖̲͇o ͎͕̠͖̹̀i̷̟̝̬̲͈̰ţ̲͕̦̤̬e͖̱̞͚t͇͎̬ͅ'̼͘s̲̰̥̣͚̹d̺͘o̕i͏͓͙̺̤t̡͖͇̦̺̼̰ ̣̦͖a̲̝̼͍̭g̤͜a͍̮͍ͅi̥̝̲̹n̗̱̩̮ ̪̞s̤̲͟o̫͔̳͟m̧̻e̖͔ ̢͇̺̮͉͈̰̱t̝ͅi̠͙͖̳͍͠m̀e̷̦͚̩͙̤̙͚.̧̱̜͔͖

 

When the monster drew away from him, Sans let himself dribble into a puddle, like he was made of the same dripping, formless material. The amalgamate got up and curled itself into a contented ball in the corner.

Sans shivered on the floor in a mess of fluids. The dogs surrounded him. He wasn't ready for whatever it was they wanted him to do next.

“Get up, Sansy.”

“I...can't.”

He needed just a minute. Just thirty seconds. Just one goddamn moment to process that the slug wasn't here, that the amalgamate was done with him, that whatever was going to happen next would probably feel good enough that he could live with it. 

But Lesser Dog was already grabbing Sans by the collar and tossing him onto the couch. He pushed on Sans' chest so he was leaning back, then nudged his knees up and back on either side of Sans' head, spreading Sans' legs open in a sitting crouch so his cunt was in full view. Sans braced himself to get mounted again.

But the dog backed up, leaving him like that. The dogs were all standing over him, staring at him. Sans' knees twitched. The hard stares both made him want to curl into a protective ball and made a thrum of expectant arousal spread renewed heat to his cunt. Just how long was he going to be this easily keyed up?

“Play with yourself.”

Sans didn't move. How was this the first time a client had told him to do that? But then again.

_Doesn't do any of the work._

The dogs probably weren't as intent on getting an enticing show out of him as they were in watching him make a fool of himself.

“What's wrong, Sansy, don't know how to do it?”

The dogs caged Sans in barking laughter.

What would happen if he played dumb? Would the dogs 'showing' him what to do really be worse than doing it himself for their amusement?

Sans reached a hand over his thigh, slowly moving it down to his groin. He hesitated with his hand hovering at his abdomen. His hand shook, freezing in place.

Why was this so difficult? It couldn't be worse than licking the floor. Than getting on his knees and barking like a dog. Than being rammed with dicks thicker than his arms, than being forced to enjoy his humiliation, made to come again and again just to prove how much he liked it. Certainly it couldn't be worse than being filled with some kind of amorphous, liquid cock that ejaculated itself inside him and had maybe left _pieces_ sloshing around inside still...

It occurred to Sans that this would be his first time masturbating with his cunt. He didn't want to think he was the sentimental sort who put much value in 'first times,' but this was one more private moment that was being taken away from him. Something he should have been doing alone in his bed in Snowdin, in the dark of night, with the curtains closed and maybe even under the covers, was instead being used to entertain this group of disgusting monsters who hated him so much they fucked him just to watch him cry.

Sans withdrew his hand.

“I'm...not going to do that.”

“Come again?”

Sans looked Lesser Dog in the eye as he closed his legs and sat up, hands clenching the cushion beneath him.

“I'm not doing it.”

Lesser Dog leapt on the couch and straddled Sans in one swift motion, grabbing Sans' hand and forcing him to touch his hardening cock.

“Pretty bold of you, pup. How about you do me and I'll do you. Then we'll work out how we're going to punish you.”

Sans did feel slightly less bold with his hand on the huge cock, with the dog's mass trapping him. Lesser Dog reached between Sans' legs and dipped fingers into the pussy, jacking into him at a quick pace from the start. Sans lost what little composure he'd gathered.

“Ah...ah...”

“Don't come already. You've got work to do.”

The hand forcing Sans to touch the cock made him pump over it a few times before Sans gave up and took over the jerking movements. Precum spilled over his hand as he stroked.

The fingers in him weren't enough. It seemed like Lesser Dog made his rhythm erratic on purpose, getting Sans unbearably needy but not ever building up enough for a finish. But their individual efforts were creating a tempting picture: Sans' hand stroking a wet cock that was pointed almost perfectly to slide right into his pussy. Sans could simply aim it, scoot forward just a little, and he'd have the friction he needed. Sans' cunt twitched eagerly at the memory of the dick pounding into him.

Lesser Dog pulled Sans' hand away and removed his own hand from Sans' cunt. He pushed Sans onto his back and growled.

“Won't touch yourself in front of us, but you sure love it when _I_ touch you, don't you doggy?”

He licked Sans' teeth.

“I'll tell you what. I'll forgive you if you admit you did it just so I would touch you myself.”

What did that matter?

“Y-yeah.”

“Say it.”

“...I...w-wanted you t-to...to...”

Maybe it mattered just a little.

When Sans remained silent, Lesser Dog barked, and all the other dogs joined in. Lesser Dog rubbed teasingly around the opening of Sans' pussy, and Sans gave a startled buck of his hips, almost burying the finger in him. Lesser Dog pulled his hand away, and Sans was left shaking with need.

“Now here's how it's gonna go. You're gonna have to beg for our cocks each time.”

Lesser Dog held his cock and pointed it between Sans' legs. He pressed the tip against the pussy, rubbing up against the clit. Sans' eyes crossed.

“Go on. Beg me to put it in you. Tell me how much you want my cock inside you.”

He _did_ want it. Actually wanted it, would feel relief as it thrust into him, would finally be able to come and maybe that would use up the last of the drug's seemingly boundless magic.

But for once, the fear, the nearly automatic obedience, were being overwhelmed by hot anger. The unfairness of the situation hit him full force. Why the hell should he have to beg for what they were doing to him anyway? Why did he have to want it so badly, after everything they'd put him through? Why did it have to be _them?_ And why, if that goddamn bunny had to go and spit in Sans' fucking soul, could he not even have the decency to dust a few dogs for him in apology?

“You're really testing me, Sansy.”

The dog rolled his hips, and the shaft of his cock stroked the lips of Sans' pussy. Sans' breath hitched. Lesser Dog's tone changed from threatening to coaxing.

“Don't fight this. I can smell how bad you want it. Just say it. Ask nice and I'll give it to you real good.”

Another insistent rub between his legs that made Sans quiver. He couldn't stand any more.

“Like this is some kind of fucking privilege! As if I _want_ to fuck you mangy mutts!”

All of the dogs went still. A wall of sharp, unblinking eyes were on him at once. Sans' voice died out on a small, intimidated squeak.

“Don't want to lower yourself, huh? That's just fine, Sansy. I'm sure I can find something good enough for you to fuck.”

Lesser Dog dragged Sans off the couch by the collar and left him on the floor. The dog went to the room's cleaning cabinet and opened it, blocking himself from view. When he slammed it closed, he was gripping a wooden broom.

“Hold him down.”

Greater Dog pinned Sans to the floor by his shoulders and the other two dogs held his stomach down. Sans fought through a daze of shock to look up at Lesser Dog standing over him, unsure if this was a bluff to get him to say what they wanted, or their final act of retribution.

“Are..are you going to kill me?”

Lesser Dog snorted.

“If that slug didn't kill you, then this won't.” He twirled the broom. “It looks like your pussy can take some punishment. Lucky you, right?”

Sans scrambled his legs against the floor.

“This is...this is t-too much. What do you. What do you want? What do you w-want me to do?”

“We're a little past that, Sansy. What's gonna happen now, is I'm gonna split your pussy with this,” he waved the handle of the broom in Sans' face, then gripped Sans' chin and breathed on him. “And you're gonna scream.”

Dogaressa held Sans' legs apart and Dogamy spread his pussy open. Sans jerked in the hold, only to be met with Greater dog's huge paw pressing on his stomach.

“wait wait wait I—you were right, I w-want. I want you ins...inside me, please fuck me instead, please, I want you to d-d-do me, l-let me. Let me. Let me suck your cock, I w-want it, p-p-please do me—”

Lesser Dog tilted Sans' face up with the broom handle. He was grinning.

“I'll let you do it afterward, doggy.”

The broom handle stabbed into Sans' cunt. Lesser Dog got the scream he wanted.

It was completely inflexible. The thing inside him wasn't alive, wasn't magic, didn't breathe or pulse or bend in accommodation to his body. It felt like something had spitefully died inside him just to torture him. Sans was still slick and open enough to accept the intrusion, but the brittle texture and unforgiving stiffness combined into a terrible ache. The way it was rubbing inside him spread a frightfully familiar raw itch that he tried to block himself from thinking about. He would give anything for the dog not to move the broom in and out.

So far, the dog seemed satisfied just to slide it all the way in until it reached the limit of space with a hard poke. Sans cringed, but that caused him even more pain. He did his best to hold as still and straight as possible. All the dicks that had been shoved in him since he came here, and this was the first time he'd felt impaled.

“Is that really as far in as it goes? It doesn't stretch any more?”

Sans choked. Lesser Dog gave a few more sharp jabs at the back of Sans' pussy. He wanted an answer.

“Th-tha-tss...a-all...” Spit dribbled out of Sans' mouth from the effort of speaking.

Lesser Dog twisted the broom, grinding it against the end. Sans' vision shorted for a second.

“All right, you can make it go now.”

Sans didn't understand the words at first. He looked blearily up at the dog.

“You can get rid of your pussy, you moron.”

Sans immediately obeyed. He let out a breath and some of the awful tension left him. It looked like Lesser Dog had gotten bored. But then the dog smirked.

He shoved the broom up so the end reached the bottom of Sans' rib cage. Sans didn't feel anything, but his entire body tensed.

“Now make it.”

“You'll...kill me...that would kill me”

“Nah it won't. Now do as I say.”

Sans squirmed, trying to withdraw from the handle, but the other dogs held him firmly to the floor. And when the broom rubbed against his bones, still overly sensitive from the drug, Sans had to concentrate all his power on _not_ forming a cunt.

Lesser Dog bent down and opened Sans' shirt. Sans gasped.

“No. No no. No.”

Sans' soul was brought forward, and a tongue pressed into it.

“No no please don't...m-make me...don't make me don't make me”

Lesser Dog licked the soul and wriggled the tip of his tongue inside. Sans' pussy tried to coalesce with renewed arousal.

In an extra little touch of cruelty, Lesser Dog jiggled the broom handle.

Sans' whole body sparked with upset magic. Pinpricks of light danced crazily over his bones and pulsed off of him in circlets. If he'd only been watching, feeling nothing, he might have thought it looked beautiful.

The pain was blinding. He was falling apart, splintering into pieces. Each atom of his body was vibrating from the simultaneous strain to stay intact, and to give up. He needed to give up. He had to give up.

He couldn't dispel. The magic kept trying to form and then met the obstruction, bringing on fresh waves of pain. The broom was being moved, but Sans couldn't tell if it was going out or in. It felt like a giant needle. It moved so slowly, it would never reach where it was going.

Sans lost some time. He was drenched in sweat, puke was sticking to his cheek, and there was nothing inside him. There was no broom. No magic gone haywire. He saw his soul flicker—his magic had shorted. It couldn't sustain the pussy any longer.

His face was being picked up. A pastry was shoved at his closed teeth. Sans turned his head away. He wheezed.

“No. No p-please.”

The food was crammed into his mouth. He felt himself absorbing the magic before he even swallowed. Fingers dipped into his soul, agitating it so that a dimly glowing pussy started to form against his will.

“Nononomore...no more no more...”

“Hey, puppy, it's okay. I'm just gonna fuck you for real this time, like you wanted.”

Sans felt an erection sit on his thigh.

“Be a good pup and sing for me again.”

The magic from the food coursed through him. He felt energy come back, just enough to spark the mind-numbing fear that controlled his every action from that point.

No one was holding him down.

Pure adrenaline temporarily shut off the pain and launched him to the door. His abrupt break for freedom was so unexpected that he got all the way to fumbling with the knob before he was grabbed around the middle.

Sans still reached wildly for the door and scratched at it like a cornered animal.

“Muffet!” Sans's hands found the door knob and held fast as a dog pulled the rest of his body off the floor. “I changed my mind, Muffet! It's too much, it's...oh god please...”

Lesser Dog wrenched Sans from the knob and barked in his ear. “Whaddya think you're doing, Sansy?” He spoke quieter. “What do you think's gonna happen? You said you'd do this.”

Sans kept wrestling from the hold, reaching for the door. “I can't, I can't do it, I'm too w-weak...I'm too weak!”

Lesser Dog tossed him to the floor. Sans landed in a heap and curled up completely, arms over his head.

“I'm useless. Worthless...I c-can't help Boss, can't d-do anything right...”

Hands were on him. He curled up tighter, babbling between heaving gasps.

“I'm n-not even good as a b-bitch. Lower than g-g-garbage. I'm...hk...I'm weak...I'm weak...”

Several hands yanked at him so that he was on his back, arms pinned to the floor so he couldn't cover his face. The hands all belonged to the same monster. Muffet looked down at him with a deep, furrowed frown.

Alpyhs was looking over Muffet's shoulder, her scaly yellow face extremely pale.

Muffet gathered Sans up in her arms. His body remembered it was in pain. The jostling movement made him feel like the inside of him was splitting. He shrieked.

His scream gave way to halting gasps that caused him even more pain. Why couldn't he just pass out again? Muffet was carrying him somewhere.

“Muffet I'll do anything, please d-don't punish me please don't hurt me more please _please_ ”

“That's going to be up to Onion, Sans.”

“it hurts everything hu-u-urts”

“M-m-muffet, where are you t-t-taking him?”

Muffet turned a sweet smile to Alphys and spoke in a honeyed tone.

“I'm getting him cleaned up. My guard will be escorting you and your, ehm, friend out of the building.”

Alphys reached up a hand and called out.

“M-muffet!”

A large guard stepped between them, and Sans could no longer see Alphys. He could just barely hear her moan to herself as he was carried out of the room.

“Sans, I. Sans I d-d-didn't. _I didn't know_.”

 

Sans was left on a bed in a room...somewhere. Woshua was leaning over him, pushing the nozzle of his hose to the opening of Sans' pussy. Sans twitched his legs, but didn't dare move them.

“no please, please don't put that in, please”

A fin held Sans still. Shyren was there too.

“Shh, Sans. It's okay.”

The hose didn't enter him. It oozed a cool, foamy goo that absorbed into Sans' magic with a green glow. Some of the ooze made its way into him, soothing the raw magic where it touched. Sans' fearful shudders finally started to abate. The biting pain was easing into a dull ache.

Shyren touched Sans' face.

“Don't dispel just yet, all right? You're going to need to let the magic work a bit longer. I'll be right here. You're going to be okay.”

Shyren checked him.

Her head jerked in shock. She lifted Sans' shirt to look at his soul. It was wavering with hectic sparks of light. Sans whimpered.

“I—sorry, Sans, you probably don't like that, do you?”

She gently pulled Sans' shirt back down and checked him again. She shook her head in confusion.

“You're...well, the healing magic is working. You're at full health.”

Of course he was at full health. If he weren't, he'd be dead.

But the healing foam certainly wasn't doing nothing. Sans' breathing calmed as the magic spread through him. The tension leaving his body, the waves of relief, almost felt like an orgasm. Sans wondered if Woshua did this on purpose.

Oh...the drug was still working. The absence of pain was an intense enough feeling to trigger the effects all over again.

For once, Sans was glad Shyren didn't ask anything before playing with his clit to get his drug-induced orgasms out of the way. At least that way he didn't have to be responsible for this happening to him. She made no comment when he gripped her arms and moaned into her shoulder. She leaned in so that he could get a firmer hold on her, her fin still rubbing between his legs.

“I'm sorry, Sans. You'd be in pain otherwise. Go on and sleep.”

Somehow, she was still helping him come even as he fell into a hazy unconsciousness.

 

 

Sans was brought to the chamber with his hands cuffed behind his back. The guard pushed him through the door, then left. Not like they were needed anymore. Not like Sans could run before tentacles grabbed him. And Sans would be in even more trouble if he made Onion have to catch him.

The octopus was staring at him, head still partially submerged. Sans couldn't see his mouth to get a full read on his expression, but his eyes were boring into him so intensely he felt a grip on his soul. He looked down at his feet.

Sans made himself take a step forward, then another, and slowly he made himself walk all the way to the edge of the pool. He got down on his knees and waited with his head down.

“Come closer.”

Sans looked from the edge of the pool to his knees. There was no gap to close. He looked into the octopus' face, but didn't see any indication that he was playing with him. Sans got up clumsily without the use of his hands to aid him. He put one foot out as though to take a step, but there was nothing but water beneath it. He let himself fall forward.

Sans only fell for a split second before tentacles caught him. He didn't even touch water. The octopus set him back down to his previous kneeling position at the edge of the platform.

A tentacle touched Sans' face and he flinched, but didn't move away. He squeezed his eyes shut. The tentacle slid down his front and slipped into his pants. Sans was shaking violently. He obediently made a cunt out of magic. The tentacle stroked the lips and rubbed against the opening. Sans took in a sharp, frightened breath. He shifted a little on his knees to spread his legs open wider. The tentacle gave an approving stroke on the inside of one thigh.

Then the tentacle withdrew from his pants, and another reached up to rub Sans' back. Sans nearly broke. He gave a weak hiccough.

“Tell me what happened.”

“C-can you give me a...just a second?”

“Yes.”

The tentacle continued rubbing Sans' back in soothing circles. Sans took a moment to make sure he could speak without bursting into tears. He swallowed hard.

“The dogs, they. T-t-told me I had to. I had to see all of them. Or they would tell p-p-p—tell the B-boss what I was d-doing. But I couldn't—I didn't do like they w-wanted, when. When they had me, and.” Sans sucked in a breath.

“I know I'm in trouble and you—” He darted a terrified glance at the tentacles settled near him, “you don't want me to beg you not to—to do...to...” Sans swallowed again. His shoulders shook. “I know that. It d-doesn't matter what I w-want. I-I. I just.” His voice cracked. “don't make me beg for it, please don't make me b-beg for...just one t-time. Just one time, can I? I d-d-don't. Don't wanna be fucked. Just one time. Please Onion. I don't wanna be h...hurt, and I don't w-wanna. I don't...”

Sans curled over so his head nearly touched the floor.

“I f-feel like I'm going to break and I need mercy, p-please, _please have mercy on me_.”

Tentacles reached for Sans and he didn't bother to fight; there was nothing left he could do. The octopus dragged him into the water. Sans was pressed close to the other monster, more tentacles wrapping around him and squeezing tight. The strange embrace was the closest Sans had been to a platonic, comforting hold since way back when that human hugged him. He pressed his face into the octopus' body and started bawling.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what you expected and if this was anything close to it.
> 
> As always, please let me know how I am giving life to and or ruining your fantasies by leaving a comment here, or spamming my tumblr inbox with screams of agony (whether screams of agony are a positive or negative review may be subjective):
> 
> http://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/


	8. do you know them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so you know when teachers would ask what grade you think you deserve? Did anyone else ever feel held hostage by that question?

Onion kept on holding Sans even after his hiccoughs stopped and his breath evened. Sans let tentacles pet him without objection. It felt good, very good, and he sighed a little from the attentions—he was too tired and relieved to be ashamed of himself.

Maybe a stronger monster would take pain and punishment over the demeaning soft touches of an enemy, but it was becoming increasingly obvious which Sans preferred.

“On...Onion...”

“What is it, Sans?”

“The B-boss...my brother...is he...did the dogs...?”

“Oh! Oh, Sans, don't worry. Papyrus is fine. And I'm sure he's still in the dark.”

“How do you know that?”

“You weren't awake when he came to get you the first time, but let's just say his entrance was...well, you know your brother, don't you? Red City didn't wake up buried in a sea of bone attacks, so I'm guessing your secret's safe.”

Sans found himself breathing a little easier at that.

Now there was just his own hide to worry about. He might get this small break, but then there was what was going to happen when he went back to Red City. As far as it had gone, his session with the dogs had been interrupted, and it probably wasn't going to be a one time thing either way.

“Onion, do you think you could maybe...I didn't tell Muffet what was going on. With the dogs. I was s...scared that she would...but I don't think that I can keep—I don't think I can d-do that again.”

Sans didn't know if he needed to keep going. Onion probably knew what he was asking, but the octopus was suddenly rubbing his own forehead with a tentacle as though he was frustrated, which didn't seem like a fair reaction when Sans was here spilling his guts to him. Cautiously, Sans pushed on.

“Do you think, if Muffet knew it was blackmail, she wouldn't m-make me...do this? B-but I don't know what the dogs would do, and I'm...I...”

Onion still didn't respond, but he was looking closer to breaking. Whether it was in anger or pity was unclear. Sans decided to gamble.

“I don't know what to do. I'm scared for my b-brother. B-b-but I.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I'm s-scared too. Of the dogs. I don't think I can do what they...want. I know I m-messed up, but I...”

He bowed his head.

“Would you believe me if I said I t-tried? I know it probably d-didn't look good...”

A tentacle massaged Sans' neck. It was probably pity, then. That was good enough. He could work with that. Sans snapped his head up to look Onion in the eye, and Onion looked taken aback.

“If you could tell Muffet, if it came from you, then—”

Then Sans finally got a read on Onion's expression.

_Nothing happens here without me knowing._

Sans spoke before he could stop himself.

“You knew.”

Onion looked to the side, still quiet.

“Muffet knew...she did this...on purpose?”

Muffet had never said she wouldn't make Sans entertain a group. She'd only said he wouldn't be asked for. Come to think of it, it perfectly fit Muffet's M.O. thus far to allow Sans to suffer delusion in order to feed a client's fantasy. The dogs probably thought blackmail would be good fun, but Clarence was right. They _would_ get in trouble with Asgore if they spoiled his plans for Papyrus, and unlike Muffet, they were likely to face real consequences. It wouldn't have been hard to figure out who was responsible.

They'd been bluffing.

Sans was such an idiot.

Onion broke his silence.

“Do you think you deserve to be punished, Sans?”

No. Oh no. He shouldn't have said anything. He'd gotten himself into more trouble.

“Wh...I don't...I d-don't know how to...answer that.”

“It's not a trick question. Knowing everything that you know, do you think you deserve punishment?”

Knowing what he knew? Like how he'd been set up to fail? But he also knew that, fair or unfair, Onion wasn't forgiving of Sans fighting his clients. Sans opened his mouth. What was the right answer? If he said yes, would that spare him, or not? Was he just being forced to be responsible for his own torture? Was this an extra sadistic spin on his punishment for daring to point out their hypocritical mind games?

Sans crumpled into himself, sniveling and whimpering.

“Well...that is a sort of answer.”

Onion pulled Sans closer and stroked his back.

“Sans. Shh. Don't try to please me. Speak honestly. Don't treat this like a game you have to win.”

Sans mumbled.

“But it...is. You can't just pretend you're not looking for the answer you l-like. You can't...blame me for trying to figure out what answers don't end with me getting punished. Or f-fucked.”

“Sans, you know me. You know I wouldn't overwork you. I would never use sex to punish you.”

As far as Sans could tell, that was true. After the slug, at least, Onion hadn't so much as touched Sans. Muffet had made Sans paranoid about expecting sex no matter the circumstances leading up to it, but maybe Onion really was different.

“You're not...you're really not going to...?”

“Not right after you were hurt so badly, of course not. It's too bad you're not up for it, though. I'll have you know, I am _very_ good at cheering monsters up.”

Onion knew exactly how to emphasize a point—he didn't touch Sans anywhere below the belt, but the suggestive spiral rub of his tentacles right over Sans' shoulder blades sent a relaxing vibration pouring through him like a waterfall. Sans' mouth parted a little, like he was going to moan, then froze there, dumbly open. He didn't want to test his luck by giving Onion any signals that would initiate sex. He quickly pushed words out instead.

“H-ha. I wouldn't bill that as a selling point if I were you. 'Come for the trash soda, stay for the tentacle rape.'”

The abrupt, crackling atmospheric shift of the room reminded Sans of the time he was electrocuted. Sans knew that Onion, contrary to his image, wasn't much for black humor, but he was usually at least surprised enough at Sans' jokes to get a chuckle out of him. But at Sans' words, Onion looked eerily stricken. Something about the expression made Sans feel that it was an honest reaction, and it was ten times more unnerving than the octopus' threatening smiles.

“Sans. I never raped you.”

A part of Sans screamed at him not to say anything to that, but he found himself still trying to keep a joking tone.

“I hate to break it to you, Onion, but when you fuck someone and they don't want it...”

The tentacles gripped Sans tighter.

“There wasn't one thing I did to you that you didn't enjoy. I made you feel good. I may have punished you for misbehavior, but I _never_ hurt you with sex.”

He really shouldn't respond. Just agree to whatever Onion said, what did it matter? What would he get by arguing? But Sans felt too shocked to stop himself, his voice breaking a little.

“You didn't...you didn't even let me say no. You can't just d-do that and call it whatever...whatever you want. The only reason I went along was because you would k-kill me otherwise.”

“How dare you.”

The octopus' eyes seemed to glow brighter, pupils narrowing like a cat's. Sans felt the room's temperature drop to a low chill.

“Kill you? I _took care of you_. I was nice to you. Exceptionally nice. I didn't have to make you feel that good, you know—this is your job. Do you even realize how much I've done for you, you ungrateful little monster?”

It may have been a rhetorical question, but in a desperate bid to calm him, Sans tried to actually think of something.

“You...you told Muffet to leave me alone for a while. When I f-first started.”

Just like that, the anger visibly drained from the octopus' face like air from a balloon. He held Sans' face with a tentacle.

“And that still wasn't long enough, was it?”

Onion's expression softened.

“Oh Sans...this isn't your fault. It's not your fault you're being bad. You're confused.”

He huffed angrily.

“Two weeks just isn't enough time for training. And after that slug, there was so much more work to do...you can't shortcut through that kind of work, using some drug to get you artificially aroused before you're even sorted out enough to feel anything real...”

That sounded suspiciously like a slight on Muffet, but Sans wasn't sure what a safe response would be. He was shaken by Onion's dangerous mood, and wanted to avoid it at all costs. He was done with pain. He wished he could have a cheat sheet that got him the easiest route for every interaction from now on. He wished he could find the switch that made him say the stupidest thing at the worst possible moment, and turn it off for good.

“Onion, I'm...d-done fighting, I promise I won't—I won't cause trouble anymore, I j-just need to know what to do and I'll, I'll do it, so please don't...”

The tentacle holding Sans' face stroked his cheek.

“You're probably wondering what you're doing here, aren't you? That's why you're so nervous. To be honest, I was still deciding what to do with you up to the moment. But I think I've settled on using our time to ease your stress a little. How does that sound?”

For a tense moment, Sans was uncertain what that would entail. But when tentacles went back to petting him, some under his clothes but still not touching anywhere near his hips or upper thighs, his relief must have been a visible reaction.

Sans allowed himself to surrender. It was about time he started viewing this as his permanent situation. Not a bad dream. Not something he could snark his way out of, not something he was going to be rescued from.

And it was apparently worth the effort to act properly.

Sans remembered a long while ago, a time when he'd gone several days without eating more than a couple bites of food at a time. On a good day, Sans wasn't partial to the Mettaton steaks sold in Hotland. He could eat them, but they tasted like ego.

On that day when he was close to starving, almost an entire batch of the things had been thrown out because they didn't look precisely enough a likeness to the vain robot. Sans happened upon that windfall in a garbage pail behind the MTT Resort, and that night, he could swear that nothing in his whole life had tasted as good as those reject steaks.

The tentacles caressing him now felt like those steaks tasted, like he was starving for a gentle touch. The fact that so many of the touches Sans had experienced lately had been painful or cruel probably had something to do with his reaction. This was a small taste of mercy, and Sans could practically pinpoint the moment endorphins released to flood his brain.

Onion hummed to himself as he laced tentacles through Sans' ribs, squeezing lightly on each rib as he went. A tiny, rebellious part of Sans insisted he should be disturbed that this felt good. But the part of him that was in control now couldn't help but think that at least he wasn't entirely consigned to misery and pain from now on. There could be bright parts. He just might need to change his attitude about them if he wanted to be able to appreciate them.

Then a tentacle was traveling up his spine, tingles spreading where it stroked—

“N-no, no wait!”

It slid back down with a firm grip, and Sans momentarily forgot what he was so worried about. He leaned into the hold, his body going slack. He could feel wetness between his legs.

Oh. That was why.

Sans snapped his legs together, his breath quickening. He couldn't let Onion know; it was as good as an invitation for the octopus to forget all his nice promises and start fucking him. But there was no way he hadn't noticed.

Sans kept his gaze fixed to the side as he shakily spread his legs back open, revealing the glow in his pants. He'd lost his chance at having a sex-free visit, but so long as he stayed agreeable, Onion wouldn't hurt him. At least there was that. Sans could probably find a way to enjoy this. He shut his eyes tight.

Tentacles nudged Sans' legs back together at the knees while the tentacle gripping his spine tenderly pressed each ridge as it slid down. Onion spoke softly in his ear.

“What a good boy. Don't be afraid. I think it's safe to say your pussy's had enough recently. Can you make it disappear, Sans?”

Sans didn't know if that was an order or not.

“I'm...not sure.”

“Go on and try, then.”

It was a little more difficult than he was used to, since he was still aroused, but he managed it.

“Do you often have that problem?”

Sans squirmed.

“Usually only when...I've been drugged.”

A smirk spread over Onion's face. He held Sans closer.

“And I got the same reaction sober? Looks like I still 'get' you, hm?”

A tentacle tickled up his spine and pushed hard between his shoulder blades, earning a halted gasp. And Sans' pussy formed again. Onion tittered.

“Sans. Control yourself.”

Sans' face lit up in a bright glow. Onion tugged on Sans' head to look him in the eye.

“Shh, shh, I'm only teasing. No need to be so sensitive.”

The tentacle wound its way down his spine.

“But I guess everything about you is sensitive.”

How many limbs did Onion have, again? It seemed like there was hardly a part of Sans left unattended by the stroking tentacles. His pussy was still left alone, and he managed to get rid of it again. And the tentacles weren't anywhere that should be particularly erogenous, so there was no reason for the relieved whimpers and sighs coming from Sans' throat.

Onion had a way of pulling and pressing on joints, of using suckers to reach into crevices, that was turning Sans in his entirety into a wet puddle. And there was some kind of tingling still spreading through him, not quite like a sexual release, but intense and relaxing and warm. When the feeling was reaching its peak, Sans whined a little and shuddered, eyes drooping like he was giving in to sleep.

Something about accepting this treatment, of allowing the touches to make his body reach a climax, felt dangerously intimate. It felt like Sans had come upon another point of no return and crossed it. Like he'd somehow surrendered something he hadn't given up to this point. Maybe he was imagining it, but the way Onion was smiling told him something between them had just changed.

“There. There we go. That's it.”

Onion took his tentacles out of Sans' jacket and went back to petting him over his clothes. Sans tried to focus harder on Onion's expression. The octopus had the look of a monster who was taking pride in his work.

The massage had relaxed Sans enough to push the panic back, but it was also clearing his head a little. And with that came a whole slew of thoughts.

Onion said he'd done a lot for him, and by the standards of Sans' situation, he did appear to have gone out of his way for him in a number of respects.

But what was the point? Did Onion think he could soothe Sans enough, or teach him just the right trick that would make him somehow able to fuck five dogs at once, or take a broom without complaint? How could Sans possibly pick back up where he'd left off at Red City?

“Onion, why are you bothering with all this? I can't...I can't do this job.”

“Hm, no Sans, you're very good at your job.”

He said it so casually that at first Sans automatically heard it as an insult, until he went back over it in his mind and realized what words had actually been said.

“Wh...how can you say that?”

“Fishing for compliments, Sans?”

Sans buried his face in embarrassment. Onion lifted his chin to look at him.

“Teasing, I'm teasing.” The tentacle turned Sans' face to either side, like Onion was inspecting him.

“You're intelligent, and you pick up on nonverbal cues well. You're something of a people-reader—you're able to guess with impressive accuracy what different clients are looking for. And of course, you have a natural talent with magic. You don't think just any monster can perfectly execute anatomical magic after only being shown how to do it once?”

Sans didn't know how to take this. None of it was anything he should want to be good at, and he shouldn't want to be praised for it, but he had never heard words like 'impressive' or 'talented' being directed at him.

The tentacle on his face moved to press lightly against his teeth, and without thinking about it he opened his mouth to allow it in, sucking on it in response to its entry.

“You could always stand to be more obedient, but when you are...”

Sans stopped sucking as soon as he realized he was doing it, mortified. The tentacle pulled out of his mouth and scratched his chin affectionately.

“...you do wonderfully.”

Sans' face felt hot. Onion looked pleased with the reaction.

“You're just going to have to trust that I know what I'm talking about.”

Onion sighed.

“If I'd been given more time to train you, I think things would be going smoother for you now. I think I could have saved you some suffering.”

That was the second time Onion said something to that effect. It seemed it really bothered him. Maybe Sans could use that, if he chose his words carefully.

“Onion, do you...do you...” Sans searched for the most neutral way he could say this. “...disagree with Muffet?”

Onion stared at Sans for a moment, expression purposefully blank.

“Sans, I would never say anything negative about my coworker in front of you. It's not professional.”

Something about the way he said it reminded Sans of Cecil's tone just before they flaunted Muffet's rules. Against Sans' will, he felt some hope glowing inside him. Just a little bit.

And then the words flooded out.

“Muffet, she...she lets monsters into my room, and I n-never know when it's g-going to happen, and if it were just clients I could...m-maybe, but it's...sometimes she'll test me, and I can't. It f-feels like it never ends, like there are no b-breaks, and it's—”

A tentacle rested on Sans' mouth, abruptly stopping the babble of grievances.

Onion put Sans down on the platform, then fished for something under the water. What he pulled out were two dripping walkie talkies.

“You've convinced me that you want to be good, so don't break my trust, okay? I'm going to see about getting things easier on you. I don't want you taking on more than one client at once anymore. _Maybe_ two. But I definitely don't want to hear that you're being hurt.”

He slipped one of the walkie talkies into Sans' jacket pocket, then pressed on it through the fabric. “As for this?” Onion gave Sans a calculating look. “You can use it to talk to me if you get lonely.”

There was some meaningful juxtaposition being used here, Sans was sure.

Onion held up his own radio and pointed at a dim red bump under the speaker.

“I'll see this light up if you turn your end on.”

Then he looked like he was considering something.

“Sans...do you want to see your brother?”

Sans nearly choked.

“Wh...you would...let me?”

“Do you think you could lie to his face about your job?”

“Yes?”

The bubble of hope popped.

“...no...I don't know.”

Sans looked at his feet.

“I mean, we're family, so I've lied to him about all sorts of shit...but. I think this would be. Too hard. I don't think I could do it. I f-feel like he'd take one look at me, and he'd...know everything, somehow.”

Sans was quiet after that. He wanted to have a different answer, a braver answer. Especially when he was being given a chance to make his life a little less like hell. But the gift felt like a Trojan horse, like something that would end up torturing him and his brother both more than it would help either of them.

Maybe Papyrus would be better off if Sans just quietly slipped out of his life, Papyrus all the while having his lovely story about what was happening, unburdened by the ugly truth.

Sans tried to tell himself that it would be more selfish to see Papyrus than to leave him alone.

Onion pet Sans' back.

“We'll revisit that later, then.”

Tentacles slipped under the handcuffs and rubbed Sans' wrists. Onion made a 'tsk' of disapproval.

“...I don't want them using these on you. I suppose it's one step at a time.”

Onion turned and used another tentacle to bring out a phone, still absently stroking Sans.

“I'll get someone to pick you up. You be good, all right?”

 

 

The way Muffet glared at the walkie talkie made Sans grip it tighter. He had only taken it out of his pocket to look at it, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to use it, but her eyeing it like that made him afraid she would take it away. He put it back in his jacket, still gripping it.

Muffet had greeted Sans almost immediately after he returned, and her reaction to him was difficult to read. She still looked irritated, but Sans wasn't 100% sure who the source of her frustration was. It could be him, but it could also be Onion for giving him the radio, or the dogs for damaging her merchandise, or Alphys for coming in without paying for anything.

When Muffet took Sans to his room, she looked him over for a moment before approaching him. Sans automatically took a flinching step back, but tried to keep himself under control. He didn't want to be in trouble again so soon, even if it were a small infraction.

“Stand still, dearie.”

Sans obeyed. Muffet went up to him and took him into her arms. The hold was a little awkward for a hug, but Sans knew that feelings weren't Muffet's strong suit. Maybe this was her way of apologizing for what happened.

Sans felt a grip on his shoulder and then a pop.

Muffet had dislocated his arm—the ball joint was hanging in his sleeve, clean out of the socket. Muffet checked him.

“I thought so! You actually have quite a bit more than 1 HP.”

Sans was too shocked to scream, but the pain brought him to his knees. Muffet let him fall.

“It must be all that sleeping you do. It raises HP above max, you know. I'd suspected this before, but the dogs ripping you open like that really should have killed you if there were only 1 HP between you and death.” She clapped her hands together. “This opens up so many more possibilities! You'll be able to earn your keep and then some.”

Sans took heaving breaths, trying not to jostle the loose arm. With his good arm, he made an automatic grab for the walkie talkie in his pocket. Muffet's smile fell when she saw it, and that only made him hold it closer to himself.

This could be a smart move, or a very, very stupid one. He turned the walkie talkie on.

He and Muffet were frozen in a stand off. Muffet was glaring down at him, and Sans couldn't look away from her, gripped by her eyes. He didn't dare speak. Suddenly, the static from the radio broke, and Onion's voice came through.

“Sans?”

Muffet's expression kept Sans silent. He trembled and hugged onto the radio tighter, his breath hitching a little.

“Sans? Are you there?”

The dislocated arm slid further down Sans' sleeve. He bit back a whine.

A cheerful tinkling song came from Muffet's hip. She stomped a foot and took her phone out. She gave Sans a bitter look.

“Excuse me, dear.”

As Muffet left the room to talk on the phone, Sans could hear venom from the other end of the line. He curled up to cradle his bum arm.

There was no telling what would happen to him later after a stunt like that, but he'd won for now.

 

 

Sans tried pushing his arm back into its socket before bed, but he couldn't grit his teeth hard enough to get the job done. He set his arm on his bedside table and slept, or made an attempt. Rolling on his side caused him more pain and woke him up through the night. By the time he was supposed to be going to breakfast, he was a sweaty mess.

He took one look at his arm on the table and decided he wasn't going to try to set it himself again. He turned his old jacket into a sling with his detached arm cradled in it, and made his way to the cafeteria like that. Maybe he could get another worker to help him. Someone other than Shyren or Cecil, who he wasn't in a particular mood to see. But he could tell by now which of the other workers were friendly to him, and which weren't.

Even though he didn't want to talk to them, he was surprised that he couldn't see Shyren or Cecil anywhere in the cafeteria. It was usually hard to avoid running into them, and he couldn't remember a morning when they hadn't been around at this hour. Their absence disconcerted him so much that he fumbled through breakfast without asking anyone else for help.

When he went into the hall, Muffet was there. Sans froze in place.

Muffet looked at Sans' still dislocated arm and scoffed.

“Oh for Heaven's sake, Sans, I'm really losing patience with you. You're not going to be winning any pity points with me.”

Sans shrunk.

“...I know.”

In one swift motion, Muffet took his arm and snapped it back in its socket. Sans at least saw it coming this time, and did his best to control his reaction as much as possible. He spoke through clenched teeth.

“Muffet, where are Cecil and Shyren?”

Muffet suddenly turned cagey. She busied her hands with other tasks, not fully looking at Sans.

“Oh, I'm...sure they're around here somewhere.”

Sans stared at her.

“You can't expect everyone to be at your beck and call, dear. Now run along.”

A creeping fear overtook him.

They were dead. She'd killed them.

Sans took a step back.

“Right, I'll...go.”

He walked too quickly down the hall, holding off until he rounded a corner to clutch at his chest. His breathing was getting too fast, his head spinning.

He couldn't go any further. He leaned against a wall and sat on the floor, breaths turning into gasps.

This was his fault, wasn't it? Muffet didn't like him being treated special, and Cecil and Shyren had helped him too much. This was his fault, he'd ruined their lives by being weak, by being too weak to do a simple job, and their only crime was being kind.

A worker came by—a grasshopper he'd seen around before. They did a double take as they passed Sans, then stooped in front of him.

“What's going on with you? Do you need me to take you to Muffet?”

“No! No, just...Cecil, when was...when was the last time you s-saw Cecil? And Shyren?”

“Huh? Uh, not since last night. They got up pretty early to go this morning, earlier than I ever bother.”

“...go?”

“Oh, you were gone last night. Yeah, they both took a day off today so they could go around New Home together.”

What?

The monster looked closely at Sans' face. Sans had no idea what expression he could be making—relief? Confusion? Exhaustion? The grasshopper seemed unsure as well.

“Come to think of it, I don't think I've seen you out of here. Haven't you saved up at least a day yet? It kinda seems like you need it.”

Oh.

“Uh. Yeah, probably. Heh. I'll...do that.”

He shouldn't start lying now, or obscuring the truth, what was the point? He should ask more about what they meant. But he felt so out of sorts, so whiplashed, that lying to cover up his lack of knowledge was a familiar comfort.

“You don't...need to go to Muffet?”

“No, no, I'm. I'm good. I'm f-fine. Just g-gotta sit for a sec, heh, got winded on the way to breakfast.”

The grasshopper wasn't leaving. They just stood there.

Sans didn't have anywhere near the required reserves to keep up his cardboard cutout smile. His voice came out barely audible.

“...they're alive?”

“Jesus! Of course they are! What the hell did you think happened?”

“I don't...I d-d-don't know. I don't know.”

Sans put his head between his knees, doing his best to breath evenly.

“I don't know.”

 

 

It took asking three more workers independently and getting the same answer for Sans to start believing that they were probably telling the truth, weren't likely to all be covering up the callous murder of two of their own. Shyren and Cecil weren't supposed to be back until much later, when Sans would already be with a client. They were going to make the most of their day off and go barhopping late into the night.

As Sans made his inquiries, another worker asked Sans when he planned on taking a day off.

This all did offer a more sensible explanation for Muffet's secretive attitude. And of course, it wasn't as terrible as the paranoid world in Sans' mind in which she'd killed his only friends in Red City. But it was still discouraging.

Sans was a captive after all. This wasn't a job. He hadn't asked Muffet about pay yet, hadn't had the stomach for it, but she hadn't brought it up either.

He wasn't going to be paid. He wasn't going to get days off. He wasn't allowed to go outside of Red City. And as conflict-avoidant as she was, Muffet had wanted to put off him asking about those things as long as possible.

He really wasn't going to get to see anyone from his old life again. Unless they...came to see him here.

Sans drifted listlessly through the day until dinner, when he saw some familiar faces.

He only saw their faces for a moment before Shyren enveloped him in her cool arms, his face tucked under her chin. As relieved as he was to see them, Sans took the affectionate contact stiffly. Shyren rubbed his shoulder with a fin.

“We didn't think you'd be back from Onion so soon! But Loox told us you'd been asking where we were, and we didn't want—”

Sans caught the tail end of Cecil giving Shyren the 'cut it out' gesture before they quickly lowered their hands. Shyren let Sans go and backed up. Sans looked between them, then at the floor.

“You...you came back early because of me.”

Shyren seemed to realize what she'd said.

“Oh! I...not really, we were going to come back around now anyway, we didn't want to miss...”

She looked behind her at the cafeteria spread.

“...tacos?”

Cecil rolled their eyes.

“We heard you were going through some kind of paranoid breakdown, and yeah we didn't want you to wait until tomorrow to find out we weren't dead. Forgive us for giving a shit and don't make a big deal about it, okay?”

The little mouse had a way with words that Sans could really appreciate.

Shyren took something out of a purse.

“I got you this in the city.” It was a puffy bow with wide ribbons hanging from it. “You can wear it instead of a necktie, if you want. You don't have to tie it, see?” A thinner ribbon attached to the back of the bow had a buckle she clipped together and then snapped apart in demonstration. As Sans took the bow into his hands, Cecil tugged at their own bowtie.

“I haven't been into wearing neckties around here since the hundredth or so time a customer pulled on it 'playfully.' Thought you might nip that in the bud.”

Sans closed his hand around the bow.

“...thanks.”

“Sans, after yesterday, are you oka—”

“I'm sorry.”

Shyren went quiet. Sans didn't want to talk about yesterday at all, but something else was also pushing him to speak. He wasn't usually one for lame apologies, especially to any monster who wasn't his brother, because who gave a fuck really? But he did think both of them were dead only a little while ago. He looked at Cecil.

“I'm sorry I was an asshole to you. And I'm...I, uh...I'm...”

He couldn't look at Shyren.

“Sans, do you mind?”

Sans chanced a brief look up. Shyren was pointing to the bow. Sans held his hand out, and Shyren took the bow, then started undoing Sans' necktie. Sans still didn't meet Shyren's eyes as she spoke, but her voice was kind.

“I'm afraid I'm not creative with words. Touch is more my area. I hope you can understand.”

She slipped the necktie off and fastened the bow around Sans' shirt collar, then brushed Sans' face with her fin, her webbed thumb lingering for just a moment on his cheek.

The contact was brief enough not to be alarming, but long enough not to feel reluctant. She was right: her touch did seem to be saying something.

' _It's okay. I don't think you're disgusting_.'

Sans caught Cecil looking at him fairly intensely. When he met their eyes, they schooled their expression to a more neutral one and gave a thumbs up.

“Looks cool.”

 

 

Sans was just about to leave his room to look for her when Muffet came in. She hadn't told him where he'd be going tonight, so he waited for her to tell him now, but she was silent.

She didn't say a word as she fastened the dog collar around his neck, then turned around to go.

“M-muffet?”

She was almost out the door.

“Muffet!”

She shut the door behind her.

Sans scrambled to grab the walkie talkie, almost trembling too much to turn it on. When he heard the static break, he tried to speak, but couldn't. Onion spoke.

“Sans? I'm a bit busy right now, so if this isn't important, then I can't—”

Sans couldn't hold back a terrified whimper at the prospect of being left to his own devices.

“Sans?”

But he still couldn't speak.

Luckily, Onion was some kind of mind reader as far as Sans was concerned, or was maybe supernaturally good at interpreting context clues.

“...she put the collar on you.”

Sans managed to force out a confirming noise.

“She didn't tell you anything.”

“n-n-no.”

A frustrated sigh came through from the other end. Sans curled around the radio like it could protect him.

“Listen to me. It's just going to be Doggo. Not the other dogs. I told her no more groups. And you're not going to be hurt, I promise. Okay? Do you understand?”

Sans was trying to understand. Trying to catch up, to feed himself this story like a relieving medicine, but he couldn't come down just like that from the spike of panic.

He made a noise into the radio, and he wasn't sure if it sounded like confirmation or confusion. It at least showed he was listening.

“You're going to be fine. Be good for me, all right? You can do it. Just be good. It's all going to be okay.”

Sans breathed in and out, holding the radio to his head like it was a pillow.

“Sans? You're listening, aren't you?”

“llbegd...I'll...I'll be good. I'll be good.”

“Good. Good. It's okay, Sans, all right? You're good. Just relax and try to enjoy yourself, okay?”

Sans shut his eyes.

“Okay. Okay.”

Sans concentrated on regulating his breaths. It didn't sound like Onion had hung up yet. Sans spoke slowly as his wits came back bit by bit.

“I...don't think any of the dogs want me to enjoy it.”

“Then enjoy it just to spite him. Maybe they'll all get bored and stop coming to see you.”

Despite himself, a small smile spread on Sans' face at that.

Then a bit of the panic came shooting back as he realized.

“Onion, do I...does it have to b-b-be in my...room?”

“What?? Of course not! Why would—UGH. You're in your room now?”

Sans nodded as though Onion could see him, then swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Go to Lounge B. I'll make a call. Doggo will meet you there instead.”

“Th-thank you—thank you—!”

“Sans, it's okay. I'm going to hang up now, all right? Go do your job.”

“Yes sir.”

Sans hadn't actually meant to say that, but Onion had done some kind of...thing with his voice that triggered it. Sans could practically hear Onion's grin.

“Bye bye.”

The radio hung up.

It was showtime.

Sans got himself up and made his way to Lounge B, walking as dignified as he could manage. There was no reason he had to make this look any worse than it was.

Doggo, though. Of all the dogs, Doggo was the one who had the most concrete reasons to want revenge on Sans. Lesser Dog seemed to have redirected all of his anger at Papyrus and released it full blast on Sans, but Sans could actually remember several things he'd done to Doggo personally.

The dog had a unique disability that made him unable to see monsters who were holding still, and Sans had a great deal of fun taking advantage of that weakness to prank him mercilessly. He'd even pestered the dog out of pure curiosity a few times, wondering whether he could see any of his surroundings. After all, things like buildings and trees didn't move much, either.

The answer was that he could sometimes see them, but not very well, as evidenced by the number of objects Doggo had been tricked into stepping on. Sans thought the dog's cartoonish howls of distress would get tiresome, but they'd only gotten funnier each time.

And now tonight was happening.

Lounge B was busier than it had been when Lesser Dog took Sans here. It looked like it was a regular Lounge Night, since no one was directly touching each other, and the workers had their pins on. Good, at least Doggo wouldn't be allowed to do anything to Sans in here tonight.

Doggo wasn't anywhere in sight yet. Sans should probably start by setting them up some drinks. Sans had seen Doggo drink beer before, so that was probably a safe bet.

On the way to the bar, Sans spotted the crocodile at a booth all alone. That's right, Cecil still had the rest of the night off. Sans didn't think he'd seen anyone else sit with the crocodile. The other workers didn't seem to feel the need to hide with him the way Sans and Cecil did. Was it possible for a customer to get no service all night?

Sans only grabbed one bottle of beer to go with the two glasses on his tray. That way if Doggo made him drink, it wouldn't be much, or else Sans would need to spend time going to get another beer. Sans had just about given up on the idea of drugs helping him through his situation. Most of his worst experiences so far had been drugged, making him even worse off to protect himself from what happened to him.

He was going to be present for this. He was just going to do it as properly as possible, and maybe that would help. Maybe he could finally find a balance and suffer a little less.

He looked over the bar counter. Doggo still wasn't here. Sans kept himself busy by finding the ingredients for an Old Fashioned and muddling sugar. He took the tray over to the crocodile monster and dropped a cherry in it in front of him.

“Oh my, it's you!” The crocodile took a grateful sip, then tipped the glass in Sans' direction. “Cheers.”

“Yeah, I'm not gonna be here long, though. I'm—”

“What are you doing over here?”

The annoyed voice was familiar. Sans turned to see the impatient worker that had bullied him on his first Lounge Night.

“Are you serious with this? And where's your pin? Come on, there are tables to serve.”

“Uh, I'm not—I'm spoken for—”

The worker nodded to the crocodile, sneering.

“Him? You know he's just a barfly, right? We've gotta keep the paying customers happy.”

“Doesn't he have to pay to get in here?”

But the worker was ignoring him, grabbing him by his upper arm and dragging him away.

“Hey—!”

“Someone was asking for you.”

“...Doggo?”

Sans followed, but the worker didn't answer him. They came up to a booth, and the occupant stood up. A caped scarecrow monster with a queerly still smile on a fabric face.

Sans was about to make some noise of protest at the other worker, but when he looked around they'd already left him. The scarecrow took one step forward.

“Hey, I was just thinking about you, and in you walk. I don't think I've ever had the pleasure of being served by you in here.”

Sans took one step back, then fought with his own instincts to keep himself in place. At some point his body would receive the message his brain was spamming that the scarecrow wasn't allowed to touch him here, that he wouldn't be hurt. But his body was still too busy deciding between flight or paralysis as the best option.

“You've been busy. When's my name coming back up on your list, huh? I enjoyed myself.”

The scarecrow leaned down, face only an inch from Sans.

“Didn't you?”

Sans tripped backwards and fell on his butt. The tray of drinks was a lost cause. The scarecrow cackled at the spill.

“Reminds me of our first date.” He reached down and brushed a hand over Sans' lap, ostensibly to wipe beer off. Sans went rigid. The scarecrow bent over him. “Not so cute anymore, is it? Maybe you need to be punished for repeat offenses.”

He was touching him. He was still touching him. He wasn't allowed to do that, but if no one stopped him, what did it matter? Sans shook hard, unable to get up. The scarecrow's wrinkly smile widened.

“I can go easy on you next time if you're nice to me now, you know.”

His thumb went between Sans' legs and rubbed his crotch. Sans felt like the breath was knocked out of him, like he couldn't say a word.

“There you are.”

The scarecrow swiped his hand away and Sans whipped his head around. He never thought he'd be relieved to see one of the dogs.

Doggo was staring directly at him, which was a little odd. Sans didn't think he'd ever seen the dog able to focus on him before.

He looked impatient. They hadn't even started and Sans had already fucked up.

Sans tried to stand up, but his legs weren't working. He made a noise of distress. Doggo grabbed him by the collar. Then he seemed to change his mind and grabbed Sans' hand to pull him up. Sans moved himself forward on shaking legs, but evidently wasn't fast enough for the dog's taste. Doggo kept dragging him by the hand toward the exit of the lounge. The scarecrow called after them.

“Thanks for the chat! Hope I didn't make you late~”

Doggo took Sans out of the lounge and to a private room. Sans finally got his voice back.

“Do you...do you want...drinks? I dropped, um...”

“Nah, I don't need a drink. I don't feel too great anyway.”

Then what are you doing here.

Doggo sat on the couch, easing himself back as though he had difficulty getting comfortable. He rested his elbows on the couch back.

“Just do whatever you do first.”

Oh shit.

“Usually, it's you guys who—”

Sans stopped himself. He probably shouldn't start this out by correcting him. Instead, he walked up to Doggo and got on his knees between the dog's legs, then waited. Doggo looked unsure.

“...what now?”

Was he serious?

“What do you w-want me to...do?”

The dog was annoyed again. Sans shouldn't have asked.

“Just get on with it.”

On with what??

Sans supposed he'd had enough experience to move things from here. The dog would stop him if he did something he didn't like. Probably.

He reached for the dog's zipper and unzipped his pants, then felt for his cock. It wasn't erect yet, so it was still buried in the soft mound of fur at his crotch. Sans paused. He'd never actually gotten one of the dogs erect himself. It probably wasn't much different from other monsters.

...but come to think of it, most of the penises Sans had encountered were already hard by the time he had to deal with them.

He massaged the mound of fur to try to excite it. After a moment when that didn't get much reaction, he bent his head down uncertainly. Where was he supposed to lick?

What if he got a hairball?

Sans closed his eyes, lowered his head, and sucked on the end of the mound. Finally, he started to feel something hot and wet poking up. He dipped his tongue on it, getting a low moan out of Doggo, the first audible reaction he'd made. Doggo leaned back more and spread his legs open wider, apparently relaxing.

As the dick poked up further, Sans took more and more of it in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. Soon it grew enough that it couldn't fit in his mouth, so he stroked the bottom of it with his hand. Doggo's hips bucked.

Doggo sucked in a breath.

“Okay. All right. Let's get to it, then.”

Sans felt his waist grabbed, then he was lifted up and lowered over Doggo's lap. He wasn't put down low enough to sit, so he braced his crouched legs on the couch and fiddled with the buttons of his pants. When he'd undone them and kicked the pants off, Doggo brought his waist lower over his lap, positioning Sans over the cock.

Sans reached a hand down to guide the cock in. Sans wasn't particularly wet—they'd neglected that part—but Doggo allowed Sans to lower his hips at his own pace, using his crouched legs to support himself. Sans made some pained whines the more he took in, but he was able to fit all of it and sit fully in the dog's lap.

Sitting stung. Moving would probably sting. At first Sans worried that Doggo would expect him to ride it, but after a moment, Sans was lifted into the air with the force of the dog's first thrust.

Doggo built up rapidly. The thrusts were stimulating, but still painful. Since Doggo didn't seem controlling about Sans' actions, Sans surreptitiously reached between his legs and fondled his clit. It eased the tension a little.

Then the pain was lessening a lot more. It took Sans a moment to realize that was because the dog's cock was going flaccid prematurely. Doggo gave a few more angry thrusts, but the dick wouldn't harden.

“Dammit...goddammit...fuck!”

Sans tensed with nerves. The dog was mad, what should he do. What would Onion tell him to do? He had to calm Doggo down. Keep him satisfied.

“Uh...hang on...”

Sans eased himself off of Doggo's softening cock, then gripped it with his hands. He worked at it for a moment with both hands, then bent his head down to lick at it.

Sans licked up the shaft and sucked on the tip, still pumping the base with a hand, feeling the cock start to harden again under his attentions. Doggo moaned and panted. The panting got faster as Doggo rut up into Sans' mouth.

Sans remembered Shyren's trick and moved his head up with the rutting so it wouldn't give the friction the dog wanted yet. Sans thought that might get the dog pissed at him, but all he got in response was Doggo's needy whine.

Sans held Doggo's thighs down with both hands, then gulped more of the dick down his throat and hummed. Doggo's hips jolted.

“Oh fuck—fuck—!”

This time he didn't sound angry.

Sans pulled his head up and licked around the tip again. He was about to bob his head back down, but Doggo grabbed his face and held it still.

“Stop, I'm...I wanna do it now.”

Doggo pulled Sans' mouth off his cock and pushed Sans onto his back. As Sans looked up into the feral, drooling face above him, he realized he'd never done it with one of the dogs in this position before. Never had to look very closely at the look they got when they were lost in arousal.

Doggo's usual shifty-eyed, nearsighted expression had been replaced by pinprick pupils and a curled lip, his snout scrunched up in a snarl. Sans' breath hitched at the sight of it.

Sans spread his legs wide, hoping he could earn himself some mercy somehow. This time, before entering, Doggo rubbed his cock teasingly on Sans' pussy.

Okay, that was...that was helping a lot.

Doggo held the tip against the opening of the pussy, stretching it in a circle, then prodding at it without entering. He kept teasing until his cock was slick with Sans' juices, then he started pushing in.

The cock slid in painlessly this time. Sans let out a breath of relief. When Doggo began pumping into him, Sans' legs trembled in reaction. Sans wrapped them around the dog's waist so that as Doggo continued to pound into him, Sans' whole body was lifted from and pushed to the couch.

Doggo still hadn't given Sans much in the way of instruction, but he was growling with pleasure. Sans felt the growls vibrate inside him. This wasn't so bad. This wasn't the worst. It was livable, Sans thought as a hard thrust made him howl in pleasure to match the dog's noises.

Sans felt the cock starting to swell. The knot was going to grow and Doggo was going to come.

And it was going to feel very good.

A little encouragement couldn't hurt. Doggo did say for Sans to do what he'd done before.

“Please...come inside me...”

Doggo made a face, then pulled out and came on the cushion next to Sans.

He did that on purpose. That was the exact opposite of what Sans asked. He did that just to humiliate him, or to...what was he doing now?

Doggo was still panting, still stroking himself and squirting out some cum onto the couch, but he was also reaching into his pocket for something that he bit with his teeth. When he'd released most of his cum, he used his now free hand to take out a lighter to light the dog treat he'd put in his mouth. He took it out and blew a shaky breath of smoke to the ceiling.

Then he was approaching Sans again, holding the smoking treat out.

Sans snapped his legs together in horror.

Doggo hadn't come inside him because instead he was going to...with that...and he was going to burn him...but Sans hadn't done anything wrong, or he thought he hadn't. He'd tried so hard, he'd fucking begged him to come inside him, he'd been so good—but that was why Doggo hadn't been able to stay hard, wasn't it? He'd just wanted to hurt Sans.

“No...no!”

Sans scurried off the couch, crashing onto the floor. He scooted himself away, then stopped dead. Doggo had been startled enough not to see the escape coming, so now if Sans held absolutely still, he wouldn't be able to find him and burn him with that.

Doggo got up from the couch and stepped in front of where Sans was sprawled on the floor. He looked down and stared directly at him.

“I can uh...still see you. On account of, you're uh...”

Doggo gestured over Sans' body.

“You're shaking a lot.”

Doggo let out a tired sigh and sat on the floor with his back against the couch arm. He took another drag from the smoking treat.

“Jesus...this is so fucked up.”

He blew out a smoke ring.

“L.D. said this would make me feel better about all those times you made me look like an idiot. To tell you the truth, it just feels like more shit to add to the shit pile. It stinks. You want it, or not?”

He was holding out the dog treat again. Oh...because he was...offering a smoke. Because that was a normal thing that monsters did. Because that was the conclusion anyone should have come to when they saw someone hold a smoke out to them.

Doggo waved the dog treat a little when Sans took too long to reply.

Sans held his hand out, making sure his hand wavered visibly, and Doggo paused for moment before handing the treat over and lighting another for himself. Sans chewed on the end of his but didn't inhale.

Doggo was staring at him. Sans fidgeted uncomfortably. Doggo kept staring at him, not saying anything, then rubbed both paws over his own face and grumbled.

“I'm really a piece of shit.”

Sans didn't have anything to say to that. Doggo blew more smoke.

“We're the reason you're in here, if you hadn't guessed. L.D. was mad drunk one night and started joking to Muffet that he'd come here every weekend if you were here, only she didn't take it as a joke, and then they were talking about it...L.D. brought up how the king was pissed at you...”

Pieces of the dog treat crumbled out of Sans' mouth as he ground down on it. He had no idea what he was feeling. Doggo looked at him, focusing on the dog treat's smoke.

“Look, I don't know why I'm telling you this. It doesn't make a difference to you, right? You already hate us as much as you can, probably.”

Doggo leaned back on the couch arm and watched the smoke from his own treat.

“But I feel like I ignored a lot of signs before still ending up here tonight? Yesterday I overslept and got this awful soul-ache outta nowhere, so I didn't come to the whole group...thing...and when I came in here and saw you, well...that's just it. I've been able to see you clearly since you got here. Cause you're always...jesus, what are they doing to you in here?”

Doggo was about the last person that Sans wanted to divulge his various violations to, the last person he wanted to hear this sympathetic bullshit from, so he stayed silent.

“Don't think this is pity or anything. You're a piece of shit. But all this is just...garbage. It's fucking gross.”

Doggo flicked the stubby end of his treat on the floor and stamped it with a foot.

“I never felt like L.D. steered me wrong before, but...I don't know what to say really. 'Sorry' sounds pretty stupid.”

He got up, his paws in his pockets.

“Thanks for not laughing when I couldn't get it up.”

He walked out and let the door close behind him. San got himself up and sat on the couch.

Sans didn't know what pissed him off more. The dogs destroying his life, Doggo's bizarre non-apology, or the fact that he'd ruined the first time Sans had managed to do a good job. Doggo may have been done with this whole business, but Sans had to keep going after this. He didn't get the option to call it garbage and walk out with his fucking head held high.

And in spite of everything, not finishing had left Sans with an intimate understanding of what it meant to be 'hot and bothered,' and it wasn't nearly as fun as people liked to make it sound.

His pussy was still throbbing with an insistent ache. Sans looked at the spent seed on the cushion. He swiped two fingers through it, ending up with a sticky glob dripping from them.

Now what in hell was he planning on doing with that? But some kind of instinct drove him, needy and deep. He stuck the fingers in himself, leaning back and swirling them around. He bit down on his other hand as he pulled out to rub on his clit, smearing the cum around, then pushed the fingers inside himself again. The cum was still hot and sticky, and now it was going deep inside, clinging to him—

_There are cameras in here, you idiot._

But Sans was too far gone. He bucked on his fingers, thumbing his clit and gasping. If someone was getting a show, Sans would have to live with it. He'd been made to do worse for an audience. Actually, it was unlikely anyone was still watching this room—the customer was gone and the monitors had more important things to look after.

No one was making Sans do this, which meant he was doing it for himself. He was doing something he maybe wasn't supposed to, and most definitely shouldn't want to, and god for some reason that was only making him feel hotter.

He curved his fingers and jabbed in more rapidly, trying to get a rhythm going. It wasn't quite enough. Truly hating himself, and the magma-hot spike of arousal it caused, he swiped his hand through more of the cum left on the cushion and rubbed it over the lips of his cunt, then pushed more in.

He panted with each thrust of his fingers. The cum was warming more inside him, was sticking to the walls like it had been shot in. It made him feel full and taken care of in a way he couldn't rationalize to himself. He whined into his other hand, biting down harder.

Sans came in a gush, still jabbing into himself to encourage the aftershocks of pleasure. He pulled his hand out and laid back.

He couldn't decide if his little moment had been worth it or not. He'd gotten to get a little more acquainted with himself, as one does when they explore their own body, but unsurprisingly it had only supplied more fuel for his self-loathing.

What the hell had possessed him to play with himself with dirty, used spunk. From a monster who was so disgusted by him that he couldn't even finish inside him.

But maybe that was part of it.

At least his other rapists had the decency to want him.

 

 

Sans came back to his room exhausted, ready to surrender to sleep and put one more awful day behind him, which was why it was such a blow to see Muffet waiting in his room for him. When she saw him open the door, she snapped on a latex glove and put the walkie talkie in a drawer, using another hand to beckon him inside. Sans gulped and walked in, closing the door behind him.

“Pop quiz, Sans. Who's in charge here?”

“y-you are.”

“Very good.” She pointed to the bed, and Sans sat down on it, looking up at her. “I don't ever want to find out you're going behind my back again. Onion won't be hearing about this, now will he?”

“no.”

“Good. Masturbate for me.”

Sans froze. Had she seen, or was that a coincidence?

But Sans had already been afraid something like this was coming at some point. After he refused to do it in front of the dogs, he figured it was only a matter of time before Muffet forced him to 'get used to it.'

He didn't know why he chose to make a cock this time, why something about it felt just one shade less violating to have her watch. Muffet raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.

Her silent waiting made Sans want to vomit. Her expression—she had no interest in watching this at all; Sans was like a lab experiment. If she didn't even take any joy in tormenting him like this, what was she doing it for? To prove she was stronger? As if that were necessary.

Sans reached a trembling hand down and gripped himself, pumping once. He didn't feel anything. He worked his hand faster, but the friction didn't accomplish much. The dick stayed stubbornly soft.

“Look at me.”

Sans squeaked. He slowly lifted his gaze to look Muffet in the eye.

“I didn't say you could stop. You can look and jerk at the same time, can't you?”

The motion of his hand became mechanical. He wasn't numb, but it was like the feeling didn't mean anything at all, like he couldn't register the movements as pleasurable. He kept looking obediently at Muffet, but his movements slowed, and he bit back a grunt of frustration. Muffet's expression darkened.

“If you're having that much trouble, you don't have to do it. I'll do it for you.”

Sans let go immediately and gripped the sheets on either side of his legs, shuddering. He closed his eyes as Muffet approached him, a plea on the tip of his tongue. He didn't know whether she would rather he beg or stay silently compliant.

Sans felt something metal clink against his teeth. Eyes still closed, he opened his mouth and swallowed the pudding. Muffet secured his hands together with webbing and pushed him onto his back. Then she roughly pumped his cock until he was thrusting desperately into her hand. He was close, painfully close.

Then she let go.

The bed rustled. Sans finally opened his eyes. Muffet had remained eerily silent. Now she was walking to the door.

Sans couldn't make himself call out for mercy, ask for her touch. It was as though he couldn't speak until she broke the silence first. But the only thing to cut through the quiet was the slam of the door.

He rolled over onto his side, then managed to get himself on his stomach. He was close enough that a few thrusts into the sheets got him off. He came with a muffled cry as cum squirted into the bedding underneath him.

His cock didn't remain soft for long. The hot, sticky feeling around it, soaking in his own cum, quickly got him hard again. But this time, his weary thrusts weren't nearly enough to build him up to another climax.

He spent the rest of the night waking up periodically from the painful arousal, and when he did sleep, he was swimming through sex dreams of Shyren, of Muffet, one dream about that bear that hung out in front of the Librarby...and one dream where Doggo laughed at his cock, spat on it but refused to do anything else to pleasure him. Sans pleaded, begged him to help him come, begged him to get Lesser Dog to come fuck him. But Doggo just kept laughing and smoking, blowing a ring in Sans' face and calling him a pathetic piece of shit.

Sans woke up in a sweat. His dick was still rock hard, and the pain was becoming overwhelming. He wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep anymore tonight, and the clock said there were still three hours until breakfast.

Sans whimpered. For some reason, what hurt the most was that as well as he'd followed directions, as submissive as he'd been, Muffet hadn't said a single word of praise to him the whole time.

 

 

When it was finally properly morning, Sans woke up wiped clean. The webbing binding his hands was gone, and the magic of his cock has disappeared. The drug had run its course.

There was a taste in his mouth.

Sans nearly panicked, possibilities streaming through his mind—Woshua had cleaned him while unconscious plenty of times, and that wasn't great, but Sans couldn't for the life of him imagine the janitor violating him in his sleep. Did it even have a dick?

The taste wasn't cum, anyway.

It wasn't an organic or magic taste. It was something caustic and worn and immaterial...he would call it time-burnout, but he didn't have the equipment to analyze it.

Still, that was a taste you didn't forget, even across resets. Unfortunately he couldn't remember the last time he'd sensed it—all he had to go on was the vague idea of what it could mean: time rewinding and playing the same short period over and over resulted in the same smell and vibration in the air as a motor being revved repeatedly.

That was the problem with knowing about time travel. From his time in the labs with Gaster, he knew it was possible, Alphys told him they had gone so far as recording it happening, but even the resources of the labs could only tell them so much, and they weren't omnipotent. Knowing about it didn't mean he could do much about it other than carefully study faces and see if anyone else knew what they shouldn't. And even though he retained his knowledge about time travel itself, he was just as susceptible as everyone else to forgetting previous timelines.

At least the mystery gave Sans something to chew on instead of mulling over recent events. It was about the strangest thing to happen that day, up until Muffet introduced Sans to his client that night. When Sans met them outside the private room, he was greeted by Muffet with two right arms on the shoulder of a red-eyed human in a striped shirt.

“Oh, Sans, you remember Frisk?”

What was going on? Muffet knew the human? They were here? _Why were they here?_ Sans looked into the human's face, but it was like they were keeping their expression purposefully controlled.

Muffet covered a giggle with a hand.

“Silly me, I'd forgotten they'd been your client before. I was certain I knew them from somewhere.”

What the hell?

Muffet pushed Sans and Frisk on the back, guiding them into the room. She spoke in a sing-song.

“I trust you'll be just fine together. Everything's already set.”

The door closed behind them. Sans turned to look at the room. On a table in the middle were several platters of foods, mostly desserts and fruits. Sans stared at the human.

They looked awkward, but had the air of someone who was pushing through regardless. They sat on the couch in front of the food.

“Would you mind sitting next to me?”

Sans froze solid.

What was going to happen to him now? Was it possible he'd misjudged the human's age, and they were really here for...?

The human didn't appear bothered by Sans' hesitance. They took out their knife and grabbed an apple, then sat back and started to peel it while they waited for him to respond.

Sans suddenly felt his breathing slowing, calming, found himself walking to the couch and sitting beside them. He couldn't say what about the sight of them was so reassuring, but now that the human was here, something insisted to him that his suffering would come to an end soon. That their appearance could only be a good sign.

When he'd sat down, the human spoke quietly enough that Sans had to lean over to listen.

“The room was bugged with a mic. I think I took care of it, but it can't hurt to be careful.”

Sans started, fighting the instinct to look around. The human placed the peeled apple slices back on the table and pocketed their knife as they continued to speak softly.

“It would be too suspicious if I blocked the cameras, though, so that's what this is all about.”

They gestured to the platters of food.

“I told Muffet I have a thing for watching people eat, so that way we have something to do for the camera that's not too...weird.”

Sans looked at the food, then back at the human.

They were definitely a child, right? Their size didn't indicate much to him, considering they shared Sans' height. And their manner was confusing. They were fancifully childlike in some respects, but alert and adult in others. 

But Sans was still convinced they were a child. What was it they'd said when they first met? 'I'm here to save you.' Only a kid could say that. And this time, even though they appeared to have a cohesive plan, there was still something about the whole thing that screamed 'kid playing secret agent.'

That thought should definitely have made Sans mad, because who had the right to treat his situation like a game, what kind of asshole would tease him with hope, especially in as stupid and convoluted a way as this?

Instead, Sans felt a bit of his heart melting against his will. When he spoke, he felt tired.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing here?”

They paused for a very long moment, apparently concentrating hard on something. Whether they were thinking carefully about their answer or trying to play a game of crossword in their head to pass the moment wasn't altogether clear. Either way, their answer was thinner than he might expect after the tense wait.

“I wanted to...check on you.”

So, no more talk about 'saving' him, then. Sans didn't know why he felt disappointed, why he thought they were going to say something different. He didn't know why he had a persistent feeling that they really had said something different, like they'd already answered this question before. But as far as he knew, this was the first time.

“Do you want some apple?”

The human held out a thin slice they'd cut. There was something calculated about how uninsistent their offer was. They were sitting right next to each other, but nothing about the human was breaching Sans' space. Not the apple, not their hands, not even their eyes stayed on him for very long at a time.

Sans took the apple slice.

“You know what kind of place this is.” It wasn't a question.

The human looked uncomfortable. They wrapped their arms lightly around themselves.

“...yeah. I do.”

Okay, Sans seriously didn't want to dig into that.

“How did you even get in?”

The human looked at their feet and kicked their legs.

“Well...I don't think most monsters can tell I'm a kid. They don't even seem to recognize me as human. I guess they've never seen one before.”

“But what about Muffet? Why did she say that before, you were...my...”

Sans found he couldn't say it out loud.

“I'm good at convincing people of stuff. Muffet thought she knew me from somewhere, so I told her I'd been to see you before.”

The child gave Sans a worried look.

“I haven't.”

“I...know that? Hell, I would remember.”

Something wasn't adding up. The human wasn't saying everything, but Sans wasn't sure whether calling them on it would be worth it. After all, they had presumably just spent a lot of gold only to say hello to him.

That did add a rather uncomfortable angle to their visit. Sans owed them in the most literal sense—in the eyes of any other monster looking in, they'd bought his body for the night. Until they walked out the door, until they said so, they owned him.

While the human didn't seem intent on taking advantage of it, the imbalance of power still nagged at him, made him uneasy.

Sans grabbed another fruit and chewed on it. The human snickered.

“You eat weird.”

“That's nothing. Check this out.”

Sans grabbed a banana and stuck it in one eye socket, poking the end out the other eye. The human's hand flew to their mouth in shock, then they fell back in a fit of giggles.

“Oh, siiiick!”

It hurt like a motherfucker, but that laugh was worth it.

“Wait, I can do something like that.”

Sans startled.

“Uh, I'm pretty sure you can't—”

But the human was already sucking hard on the straw of a fancy virgin drink from the table. They were still hiccoughing with laughter, and the drink came out their nose. That made them laugh even more, then they waved their hand rapidly in front of their nose like they were putting out a fire.

“Ow! Owww! Oh, that hurts! It burns!”

Tears were streaming down their face, but they were still choking out giggles. Their confusing show of pain made Sans laugh in their face.

“You fucking moron, was that worth it?”

“Like sticking a banana in your eye didn't hurt.”

“Pain is comedy and comedy is pain, sweetheart.”

Frisk snorted, and another gush of drink came out their nose. A base instinct made Sans reach out and rub their back.

“You're some kinda freak, y'know that? You'd make a good skeleton.”

“Um, thanks.”

Frisk was looking at Sans' arm. Oh. Did they not want him to touch them? He whipped his hand away. Their expression was mixed, but he thought they looked a little sad. Sans changed the subject as he grabbed a mini pie to keep his hands busy.

“Where's your boot flower?”

“Flowey's waiting outside. He didn't want me to go in, but he couldn't stop me, and...it would look weird to take him in anyway.”

That was just fine. Sans didn't want to see the fucking weed and have it putting its vines where they didn't belong again. But thinking about the last time they'd met brought another pertinent question to mind.

“Kid, how did you...how did you know I was here?”

Sans took a bite of the pie while he waited for an answer. He licked at the seeds sticking to his teeth, but the human was still silent. He looked over at them. They had their hands clasped together, resting between their knees, their back hunched over.

“...I'm not ready to tell you yet. Is that okay?”

Sans didn't know how to respond to that. _Was_ that okay? Not really, but what was he supposed to do? They looked so uncomfortable, and Sans couldn't see what he stood to gain by making them unhappy. He probably wouldn't like the answer anyway. Maybe they were doing him a favor.

Both of them let the interrogations take a backseat to doing more unique stunts with food. Sans fit ten grapes in his eye to compete with the impressive amount the human could fit in their nose. The game stopped when Sans' body jerked and he discovered he somehow accidentally absorbed a few grapes through his eye. Whoever was watching the cameras was undoubtedly getting a peculiar impression of the kinks involved in this session.

Sans didn't know how they got to talking about family, but right in mid-sentence he was struck with a flashback. The last time he got this comfortable with a client, the shapeshifter almost had him thinking he was talking to Grillby for real.

It wouldn't be rational to think the shapeshifter would imitate the human, would go through all this subterfuge to act mysterious for no real reason when just impersonating them would have been enough to relax Sans' guard. Besides, Muffet told him it was a shapeshifter last time—one of the few indications she followed any sort of protocol. She would have done the same this time, right?

But she was mad at him...no, she still wouldn't do something like this. Right?

It wouldn't be rational at all.

It wasn't rational, Sans told himself as his thoughts spun in a tornado inside his skull, as he started breathing hard and clutching at his chest. The human's voice sounded far away, like it was fighting through a storm to reach him.

A touch on his arm brought him back. Sans reactively curled into a ball. The hand was swiped away, and he heard more clearly what the human was saying.

“Sorry! I'm sorry! Whatever I did, I'm sorry!”

Sans took his breaths in gasps, trying to concentrate on getting words out.

“You're not...you're not him, right? You're not going to...you're not g-gonna change...all of a sudden...”

“I'm not who? Who are you talking about? I promise I'm not—I'm not whoever that is. I'm Frisk. You remember me, right?”

Did he remember them? Sans felt a rush of dark memories flutter by behind his eyes, but they weren't familiar. It was like watching someone else's home videos. A dark room, warm red eyes, the promise to save him—that was when they rescued him after the slug, wasn't it? If this was still him having a flashback, it was having the opposite effect from usual. He felt calm flood in and wash out the panic.

“You're n-not him.”

“I'm not.”

“You're Frisk.”

“Yeah. I promise.”

Frisk hesitantly touched Sans' arm again, and this time he didn't recoil. Sans had gotten the idea that the human was trying to respect his space, probably in deference to his situation, but it was hard not to associate their hesitance with disgust. He didn't want to give them the impression that they couldn't touch him. He remembered their embrace last time, and yearning roiled in his gut.

The human took their hand away and got up from the couch.

“Our time's up. I'm supposed to leave now, but I think you're allowed to keep eating in here if you want. I'll be back again.”

Sans uncurled himself and let his legs dangle over the seat cushion, but didn't look up. He wasn't sure he could handle a face-to-face goodbye, not when this had been such a good break, such a long one. It was only now fully hitting him that they'd bought an entire night for him, that he didn't have to fuck anyone all night, and gratitude was sticking in his throat.

He stared into his lap for a while until he realized the human hadn't opened the door to leave yet.

When Sans looked up, the human had their arms spread wide. The gesture broke him. He took a stumbling step toward them, but before he made it to their arms, Sans sat down right in the middle of the floor and rubbed at his eyes with his sleeves. The human came over, got down on their knees and threw their arms around his neck. Sans' words were broken by hiccoughs and gasps.

“I w-w-wanna...g-go...home...”

“I'm sorry, Sans...”

“I m-miss the B-boss so much. I want my...d-dad. I wish he wasn't d-d-dead...”

“Shh, shh...”

“He'd...kn-know what to d-do about this. He was really s-smart. I'm...so s-stupid and this...whole s-stupid...mess is...my...f-fault!”

Sans curled forward, his hands over his head. Frisk bent over him and rubbed his back.

“I d-d-don't...want this to...be my...life...I d-don't wanna d-do this. I...”

He shuddered with a sob, and the human held him tighter.

“... _I'm so f-fucking scared_...”

They shushed him a while longer, and neither of them spoke. 

Finally, when the moment stretched on beyond what would probably be allowed for the client to linger, they broke away from each other. Sans still had the presence of mind to feel ashamed.

“I'm uh...I'm sorry, kid, jeez, that wasn't right. You shouldn't be in a...p-position like this. You didn't need to see that.”

But Frisk was looking at him curiously.

“Your brother...he's not dead, is he?”

“No! I...” Sans whispered. “...he'd better not be.”

“But they won't let you see him.”

“A...actually, Onion said I could see him, but...I...”

Sans looked down.

“...I don't want him to see me like this. I kinda want him to keep thinking I'm doing some super cool science job...I want him to think of me like that, even if I don't get to see him. Ha. Stupid, right?”

“I don't think it's stupid. But he would probably rather know the truth.”

“Sweetheart, everybody thinks they want the the truth until they get it. Believe me, this is better for him too. It would...”

It didn't make any sense, they shouldn't care about him this much, but it looked like his words were breaking the human's heart. That only made him finish the thought with more conviction.

“...it wouldn't do any good, seeing him.”

Sans wasn't able to read the expression Frisk was making. It was like they were trying hard to control their emotions. Shit. Sans wasn't good at comfort in a functional state, much less now. He could at least try to be polite. He hadn't even thanked them for coming.

“It's...it's seriously good to see you.”

At last there was a flash of something in their eye that Sans almost thought he recognized.

“Hey, what's with that expression? You heard me say this before?”

Frisk turned their head away.

 

 

Sans sat on his bed and turned the walkie talkie on.

He didn't say anything into it, didn't indicate he'd started using it, but after a minute or so of static, Onion's voice came through from the other end.

“Do you want to talk, Sans?”

“N-no.”

“Don't be tsundere; it's not half as cute as everyone says it is.”

“what the fuck is a tsundere”

“Ask me once and I'll pretend I don't want to tell you. Ask me again and I'll be reluctantly enthused.”

“...what, is it some kind of weird sex thing?”

Sans was quiet. Onion was quiet. Why had he turned this thing on? He didn't have anything to say to the octopus. He wasn't in danger at the moment. What kind of conversation could they even have? But getting a break had only made him paranoid that more was coming tonight, and just having the radio connection on made Sans relax. He wasn't sure if there was a way to ask to have the radio on when there was nothing to talk about.

“It's late. Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“Oh. Uh. Yeah, I guess.”

“Would you like me to sing to you?”

Sans startled.

“I. um...”

“Put the radio on the nightstand and lie back.”

“O...okay.”

 

“そお～　一つ目の夜に　いずこから小石が世界におちる...”

 

“Onion is this a fucking anime song.”

“Don't be rude. I sing you a nice lullaby in another language, and you automatically assume I'm some uncultured cartoon addict? Just because it's Japanese, you assume it's anime?”

“Isn't it?”

“...yes.”

For a moment Sans had a crazy notion to introduce Onion to Alphys, and then he realized how awkward it would be to explain who he was.

“Well? You can turn the radio off any time. I assume you're done listening.”

“You can't leave me hanging there, Onion. I almost filled out a bingo card of missed notes.”

“I notice that the better you're feeling, the more of an ass you become.”

Then the radio unexpectedly cut out.

Sans looked at it in surprise. He turned his end off, then on again. He gripped it, listening for the break in static. He found himself holding his breath. It was suddenly far too quiet in his room.

Then Onion's voice came through.

“Sa—”

“I'm sorry! I didn't—uh—I mean, I say stupid shit all the time, you know, and I wouldn't mind if, uh. I want you to keep going, I really—”

“Sans. Sans! I know that's the way you are. I usually find it funny, but I'm sensitive about my singing. But I shouldn't have turned the radio off. I'm here, all right? I'm here.”

Sans' breathing steadily slowed. The radio crackle was the only noise between them for a moment.

“Sans, I'm so sorry.”

Sans did a double take. He tapped the side of his head like he was testing the sound on a microphone.

“Come again?”

“I shouldn't have changed your schedule without talking to Muffet first. I knew she doesn't like me sticking tentacles in her business, she likes control in her house, but I got so fed up—she probably punished you after that, didn't she?”

“I-I plead the fifth.”

“I had a talk with her today. I want you to go see her tomorrow.”

Sans' breath hitched.

“It's all right. She won't do anything to you, I promise. I want you to rest easy tonight, okay?”

Sans laid back down, the radio next to him in bed. It was as though Onion's command for him to rest easy had made him sleepier, right on the brink of blacking out.

“C-can I...keep this on...?”

“Sure. We just can't do that every night, or I'll run out of batteries.”

“Mhm.”

Sans' eyes drooped. He swirled into darkness to the sounds of Onion humming and occasionally singing more lyrics.

 

そお　二つ目の夜に...

 

 

Muffet faced Sans with a mixed expression. He didn't know what he expected, but what followed was certainly not it.

“You know, Sans, if that Frisk is a friend of yours, then they don't have to—” Muffet looked a little pained to say this. “They don't have to pay to come see you. I'd rather use the slots for real customers, so they don't get impatient.”

“I...I can have visitors?”

“Yes, dear.”

Sans wasn't sure if he should risk saying this, but it had reached the point where he had to know for sure.

“I'm...not allowed to go outside, am I?”

Muffet looked like she was actually considering. As if she hadn't already made her mind up.

“Maybe later, when things settle down more.”

So Sans wouldn't get his hopes up, then.

Still, Muffet was acting different. It was as though nothing had happened. In fact, she was being nicer than before, minus the deluge of pet names. That was more a relief than anything.

“Muffet, aren't you. Aren't you m-mad at me?”

Muffet looked taken aback. She stared at Sans for a moment before stifling a giggle.

“ _Sans_. There's no point in getting mad at you. I was just disciplining you, dearie. It's not like I'm going to hold a grudge.”

Right. Because Sans wasn't a monster to her...he was something lower, like a pet. At first Sans was too busy contemplating his demoted status in the world to hear what Muffet said next.

“Do you want your brother to visit you?”

“What? No!”

Muffet looked shocked by that response. Sans did his best to control his reaction after that.

“You mean, him coming _here?_ I—I mean. Th-thanks, that's really...uh...n-nice of you, but...”

Muffet put hands on her hips.

“Well, you're going to have to call him anyway. He's been calling your phone endlessly, and it's becoming a nuisance.”

She shoved the phone into his hands. His phone. She was giving his phone back. Something about the gesture, about the ownership of an object that could get him into contact with someone other than one of his captors raised his internal measure of self-worth just a millimeter above 'walking garbage.'

But then there was what she wanted him to do with it.

“Just put his mind at ease, all right?”

Sans stared at the phone in his hands as though it would turn into a deadly animal if he looked away. Muffet huffed and turned to go, then paused.

“Alphys wants to come see you. Shall I let her?”

Sans stiffened.

Alphys had seen him. He'd tried not to think about it, to forget it happened.

She'd seen him half naked, torn apart, covered in other monsters' fluids, and screaming for mercy. She'd gotten the closest first-hand look at what was happening to him out of any of the monsters he considered friends from his old life. How could he even look at her, much less talk? What could she possibly have to say to him after seeing him like that? That she was ashamed he had the nerve to keep on living? That would make two of them.

Maybe it was a feeling that he owed her an explanation, or a spark of hope, or just plain old loneliness, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity. Especially when he was in so much turmoil over even a phone call with his brother.

“She wants to see me as a...visitor?”

Muffet rolled her eyes.

“Yes, dear. I don't believe you're exactly her type.”

“O-okay.”

“You'll see her?”

“Yeah...I'll. I'll see her. Please.”

Muffet smiled warmly at the politeness. She brushed a hand under his chin. He flinched, but forced himself to stay in place. He couldn't handle being in trouble with her anymore. Muffet's smile broadened.

“There's a dear.”

 

 

While he waited for Alphys to show up, Sans tried to listen to his voicemail for the third time. There were eleven messages. He gripped the phone tight, rocking on his seat, still not pressing the button that would play the messages.

Muffet had directed him to wait in an area he hadn't been to before. He supposed this was a room Cecil had neglected on their tour on account of it being too boring. It was more like a hall than a room, a large space with open doorways on either end. It looked like it was meant as a community space, but it was empty except for him at the moment.

Sans shakily held his phone up to his ear and pressed a button.

 

~*beep*~ _click_. BROTHER! IT IS I, THE GREAT-

 

Sans turned the message off and curled over to clench his elbows between his knees, rocking back and forth.

“Sans?”

He whipped around. Alphys was standing in the far doorway. She walked over to him, looking uncertain about sitting on the bench next to him. He scooted far enough to one end that she wouldn't have to come in contact with him even accidentally if she didn't want. Sans couldn't help but be relieved when she sat down.

She was still quiet. Everyone was making him take initiative lately. 

“Hey Alph. Sorry about, uh, almost killing you before. No hard feelings?”

Sans heard a shaky 'oh' and a sniffle, but he didn't look at her directly. He heard her shift.

“Sans—”

She reached out a hand, then pulled it back. Sans finally allowed himself to look at her full on.

She was pale and sweaty, her eyes bloodshot. She had the look of someone who'd gone through a number of scratchy tissues before deeming herself able to talk to another monster face-to-face. Sans appreciated the effort, anyway. She sniffed again.

“This is all so wrong. This is all wrong.”

 _But there's nothing I can do about it_ , is what he assumed followed that up.

The visit with the human almost had Sans thinking that this visit could be joking about grapes in their noses, but of course Alphys was going to talk about what happened. She was a softer touch than most monsters Sans met; she actually tried to talk about her feelings sometimes.

“Look, I don't exactly want to, uh...I'd rather not—”

“Sans, I d-didn't want to b-b-believe they were taking endogeny out for something like—I was so happy they'd come to see them. They're family. I thought maybe they'd changed, that they m-missed them, b-but that weird monster was right, I was b-being a hopeless...hk...idiot...”

“Whoa, Alph, slow down. What are you...what weird monster?”

Alphys wiped her eye with the knuckle of a finger.

“After the d-dogs...took the amalgamate from m-my lab, this other monster I'd never seen before came to talk to me. They told me what the d-dogs were going to d-d-do, and that I needed to g-go help you. I d-didn't...even know you needed help, I could have guessed, but I just d-d-didn't want to...think about it.”

Her voice softened to a whisper.

“I d-didn't want to think about what I'd let...happen to you. I didn't want to b-believe that the dogs would take endogeny out after so, so long just to...for some stupid...I...”

She held her head in her hands.

“I lost it. What I'd b-been ignoring, with the cameras, I realized I knew what was really g-going on, b-but I just. It had never hurt anyone I knew p-personally, so I just kind of. Sat b-back and turned a b-b-blind eye. That monster that came in...kept on hounding me until I g-got up and came here.”

“Heh. 'Hounding.' Good one.”

Alphys snapped her head up to stare at Sans in disbelief. His smile probably wasn't reaching his eyes. They felt droopy and tired. Alphys' mouth opened in a small protest of shock before she snorted into her hands.

“Sans, it's g-good to see you. It's so good to see you. I'm so glad you're alive.”

Her voice was muffled by her hands, tears rolling over the backs of them. Meeting with the human so soon before this almost made him expect an embrace at this point, until he remembered that he and Dr. Alphys had never hugged each other once in their lives.

“The monster that told you, uh...about me...was it a short monster, about my height, with a striped shirt?”

Alphys looked confused.

“No? They were tall. It was a b-b-blue bunny. Do you know them?”

Sans wasn't so sure he did.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand thanks for waiting everybody! You guys are a very special bunch and I appreciate you. I'll continue to work hard on this.  
> 'work hard' winkwonk
> 
> anyway, how about that chapter huh, come on down to my tumblr and we can talk this out
> 
> http://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/
> 
> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 
> 
> ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡~)
> 
> cccccᕕ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )ᕗ


	9. Funny, I always pictured you as a masochist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys gotta check out the Red City fanart that's been appearing on tumblr: [here](http://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/tagged/red-city-fanart)
> 
> there's even a fanfic...of the fanfic now! what do you call that?? fanfic fanfic...fanfanfic? fanficfic????
> 
> anyway go on and check out that link, the fanfanfic is the first thing there, and there's also lots of beautiful art.
> 
> i'm really...i'm really a lucky leech //wipes a tear away// 
> 
> and now back to Red City  
> //90s tv promo music plays

 When the guard opened the door for him, he saw a set of shackles hanging from the far wall. He knew it was coming, but it didn't make stepping into the room any easier.

He got into place and held still while the guard chained him up with the casual air of someone pinning laundry to a clothesline. Then the guard left and Sans was alone.

There was nothing to concentrate on but the shackles on his wrists and the way he had to stand on tip toe to relieve the strain on his arms. Muffet supposedly wasn't going to let him get hurt anymore, but at this point it was hard to know what that promise actually meant as far as how his session would go. Sans counted his breaths for a bit in an effort to keep them steady.

No one appeared for a while. Sans was only five minutes or so early, but it was starting to feel like time was dilating. If you really concentrated, it was possible to feel the contractions of time passing, like a steady heartbeat beneath the fabric of the material world. Being hyper-attuned to the passing of time was especially unpleasant in moments like these, when time seemed to hold on one beat for too long. It felt like suffocation.

Finally, the door opened.

But no one was outside.

On closer inspection, there was something on the floor. A pair of old-fashioned gentleman's shoes with laces at the neck stood in the doorway. The empty shoes tapped up to Sans like an invisible man was sauntering towards him. The door swung closed after the shoes entered the room.

The shoes stopped right in front of Sans. In the air, just a few inches off the ground between the two shoes, a rope appeared gradually with a spark at the end, like a burning fuse in reverse. The spark traveled up above Sans' head and settled there, fizzing, while the rope floated below it, standing up in a long coil. At the top of the rope, the spark burst into a flame, and a face flickered out of the fire.

Sans should have known it was only a matter of time before he saw a monster he recognized, other than the ever-present dog gang. Although the last time he'd seen this monster, it was wearing kid sneakers instead of the starkly adult flats it had on now.

The creatively named 'Pyrope' ('sparky-string' must have been taken) had grown up in Hotland down the street from Sans.

“Hey Sans.”

“Uh...hey Pyro. It's, uh. Been a while?”

“...yeah.”

Sans' awkward attitude at seeing him appeared to be catching.

“I guess I should have set up a catch-up drink with you before this, but...” The rope made a shrugging gesture. “I'm not made of money.”

Sans considered telling him that he was allowed visitors, but he didn't know yet whether it was good to see him again. It suddenly occurred to Sans to wonder whether Muffet would make him see visitors he didn't want.

“Muffet said you don't like pain.”

It was probably not good to see him again.

“N-no, I...don't.”

Pyrope tilted his head, his toothy mouth lopsided in consideration.

“Funny, I always kinda pictured you as a masochist.”

As if on cue, Sans slipped on his toes, his body pulling hard on his shackled wrists. He did his best to transform a pained hiss into a sentence.

“Ss..sorry to disappoint. Although this does put a whole new light on how you used to tie me up 'to practice knots.'”

“Hey! I _was_ practicing knots!” Pyrope's grin grew. “I just didn't tell you what they were for.”

Ghostly magic hands materialized around Pyrope in a circle, orbiting him like a planet. A couple floated above Sans past his view. Sans was too distracted thinking about the hands to notice where they were going. He was back at the kitchen table of their Hotland apartment, Gaster busily teaching Pyrope hand magic and trying to involve Sans in the lesson, but Sans was lazily scratching doodles into the table instead.

Sans never had paid enough attention to any of the periodic lessons to learn how to materialize the multitasking hands. He'd only regretted that about a year after Gaster died, and it hit him with solid certainty that he was never going to get to ask him about it again.

Sans was wrenched back to reality when his feet landed flat on the floor. Pyrope's hands had loosened the chains enough to give Sans a more comfortable position. He'd kept Sans' wrists restrained above his head.

“Now, I like making the safeword something I like to hear...how about 'Pyro'?”

Safeword. That was new. And not encouraging for a pain-free night.

“So, other than that, you don't want me to uh...call you that? Not into nicknames anymore?”

“Oh that's not why. It's because tonight, you're gonna call me Master.” Pyrope slipped a hand under Sans' chin and lifted it. “Got it?”

Another milestone reached: the first time a client asked that. Sans thought he would have more difficulty, but then, he had practiced it into the ground with Onion.

“...yes, master.”

Pyrope made a giddily pleased noise in reply that didn't gel with his new title.

Sans had also thought he would feel more about this than he was feeling. Intimidated? Humiliated? Broken? Or maybe it would be like a cheap harlequin novel, and this treatment would unlock Sans' secret masochist side that even he wasn't aware of.

But just like his practice with Onion, this particular order just felt stupid and irritating—an extra hoop he would have to jump through all night. At the very least he would have to make sure he didn't sound sarcastic when he said it.

Two of the floating hands pulled at Sans' suit jacket.

“Let's do something about your clothes...shall we?”

That was probably a prompt.

“Yes, master.”

But the hands disappeared a second later, and Pyrope's flaming head vanished in a smokey poof. The rope fell to the floor. Sans blinked down at it.

The rope reared like a snake, then slithered up Sans' left pant leg. Sans felt it weave through his bones as it slid upwards, first around his leg, then slowing down as it reached his pelvis. It looped through his hips, creating an intimate cat's cradle that hugged each bone and resolved in a coil around his tailbone.

Then the ankle of his pants caught fire.

Sans tried to stamp his foot in a panic. Pyrope's head burst into life again right beside Sans' face, apparently independent of the rope tangled in Sans' groin.

“Hey, hey! Don't do that.” Pyrope smiled, forming a hand again to trace Sans' jaw. “I'm sensitive...”

Sans held still, and found that the flames tickled his leg, but didn't warm him more than the toasty embrace of a flesh-and-blood body might. His clothes were a different story—the flame traveling up his leg turned his pants into crispy remains wherever it touched. The fire spread past his waist and up to the collar of his shirt, eventually turning everything on him into tattered black rags.

When Sans moved his leg a little, the weak fabric of the pant leg gave in completely and fell away as ash. The smokey debris gave the unsettling impression that Sans himself was dusting.

The rope around Sans' tailbone gave a squeeze, drawing out an involuntary gasp. Then the rope as a whole started to wriggle and contract, making massaging motions over his bones. Sans felt a renewed spark and burning over his pubic bone that made his hips buck. The stimulation was getting to him more than he'd expected—the ghostly warmth at his groin made him thrust at the air a few times, seeking some satisfaction from the teasing.

There was a hot, phantom tightening, and the beginnings of magic pooling eagerly. Sans half-woke from the pleasured stupor to recognize danger.

“Wai...wait, wait! It—d-don't, it, if it forms when you're l-like that, it'll—it'll hurt...”

Pyrope paused his ministrations, but he looked amused, like he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. He cupped Sans' cheek to face Sans eye to eye.

“Sans. Did you say...'it'?”

Sans looked at the floor.

“You know, just because we know each other doesn't mean you gotta be shy.”

Didn't it, though?

The rope uncoiled from its nest inside Sans and fell to the floor once more. Another hand touched Sans' other cheek so that his head was being held in both hands. Sans still didn't look up. Pyrope's voice went low, like it was trying to fall with Sans' gaze.

“You're going to make a tight little pussy for me, aren't you?”

“...yes, master.”

Two more hands grabbed Sans' ankles and lifted his legs into a midair squatting position, his knees bent on either side of his rib cage. Pyrope's hands parted some of the fabric hanging from Sans' pelvic bones. Sans started to gather magic at his crotch, but another hand touched his pubic bone, stopping him.

“Ah, ah, ah. Not until I say. What are you going to make, Sans?”

“A...p-pussy.”

“I want you to respond in full sentences.” A thumb rubbed Sans' cheek. “And don't forget who I am.”

Sans shut his eyes, his face warmer than the flaming one staring him down.

“I'm g-gonna make a...pussy...master...”

Okay, the meter was definitely shooting past irritating to hit humiliating now.

“Go on, then.”

Sans finally gathered the magic at his groin. After a moment, he peeked one eye open, then the other.

Pyrope was just staring at it. He had a stupid, goofy grin on his face like he'd never seen one before.

A hand stroked down the lips with a knuckle, then teased only a little ways into the hole, stretching it open. Pyrope's head bent down to peer inside.

“Wh-what're...what're you doing...”

“You make your pussy look pretty good, Sans.”

Sans jolted at the shoulders. A blush crept from his neck to his forehead.

Then Pyrope started working up and down the lips using two thumbs, and Sans bit back a noise of pleasure. More hands were massaging his thighs. Maybe this wouldn't hurt after all. Pyrope at least seemed to care about getting him wet.

As a thumb pushed into the hole, massaging the inside, a spark of magic formed in the air in front of Sans' pelvis. The spark split into more sparks, cascading down in a flickering shower to form the outline of a cock. The cock glowed and solidified into a fiery orange color. Pyrope certainly had a taste for presentation.

The dick didn't appear to be anchored to any spot that might have been an invisible crotch, judging by where Pyrope's head floated, but then Sans supposed Pyrope didn't need to attach it to anything if he didn't want to.

Pyrope removed his hands from Sans' pussy, and the cock drew closer. The fat bottom of the shaft pressed between the pussy lips, rubbing up and down. Sans felt his cunt twitch in anticipation. He wasn't actually looking forward to this, was he?

A hand moved back in to tease at Sans' clit, and Sans' body gave a small spasm. He heard something dripping on the floor. Pyrope's head nudged under Sans' chin.

“I want you to ask me to fuck you.”

Pyrope licked up Sans' neck. Sans' words came out in a gasp.

“...f-fuck me...”

“Where?”

“in...uh...”

Pyrope sighed through his nose, a crackling ember floating up from his face.

“Full sentences, Sans.”

Sans didn't think he could have looked Pyrope in the eye if every weapon in the kingdom were pointed at him. He continued to stare down the floor.

“Fuck m-my...pussy.”

A disembodied hand stroked Sans' burning cheek.

“Heh...I guess I can see why you go for the shy route.”

The cock slid down the lips of the cunt and pressed the head on it a few times before pushing in. Sans felt himself gripping tight around its entry, the muscle already contracting in response to the pulsing inside it.

Pyrope slid in and out slowly, then gave one hard thrust inside.

“A-ah!”

“There we go. Now we're getting somewhere. Go on, who am I, Sans?”

“Master...”

Pyrope thrust again, liquid spattering out from between them.

“Say it again.”

“Haa...ah...master...”

Instead of thrusting more, the cock paused its movement, and a hand worked on Sans' clit again. Pyrope rubbed and stroked it until Sans felt a climax building just from the attentions there. His cunt clamped down hard in anticipation, making the cock inside him feel huge, making every twitch stand out and send shivers of pleasure up Sans' spine.

Then the hand stopped, and Pyrope rocked inside him. Sans felt a long, warm sigh on his neck. The rocking motion was almost soothing, but it kept him right on the edge, release further out of reach.

“Tell me what gets you off.”

“Uh! Um...I...dunno...you could...keep going?”

“That's too easy. You're gonna be more specific than that.”

“N-nothing, really...”

Sans could think of at least a few things. It was going to take a moment to decide which would be the least degrading to admit. He supposed if Pyrope held out for an answer, a lie would be discovered fairly easily just by testing it.

“There's something. And you're gonna tell me.”

The rocking motion was continuing inside, and all Sans could think about was...

“Um. It's, uh...when i-it...”

Pyrope tipped Sans' chin up again.

“No 'it's' here, Sans.”

Sans swallowed.

“When your cock, uh...comes, it feels uh...it...”

“You like feeling cum shoot inside you?”

Sans nodded meekly. He felt his pupils flicker out in embarrassment. More than two hands were stroking his face, and Pyrope's mouth pressed to his forehead.

“I think I can manage that.”

The cock thrust harder into him, sheathing all the way in each time. The press of the head on the back of Sans' pussy made his legs tremble. It sped up until Sans couldn't believe he hadn't come just from that.

Then Pyrope pulled out almost all the way, leaving the head in and stroking himself hard.

Pyrope had to know this wasn't what he meant. Coming in him like that would barely feel like anything. Sans let out a small whine. Pyrope kept stroking, groaning low and pleased.

“I'm gonna come. I'm close. You want this?”

This was just unfair.

It was the height of injustice for him to have Sans beg for something he'd also made him want.

Sans mumbled.

“...in...furtherinsideme...”

Pyrope pulled out as far as he could while still touching Sans, only the tip of the head at the hole of his cunt. Pyrope moaned.

“I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come—!”

“Master, put your...cock in me, p-please...”

The cock slid in and up smoothly, as though guided by the roll of hips. It gave one last hard thrust, burying deep before cum burst from the head, pumping into Sans and filling him up. Sans' whine at the pleasurable feeling hit a wavering cry.

“Ah-ahhh~!”

Sans felt the whisper of fire by his face.

“I'm coming inside you. How does it feel?”

“Ohh...it...feels really good...” Sans closed his eyes lazily. “It feels hot...”

Pyrope examined Sans' face.

“Heh. That really does do something for you.”

A hand played with Sans' clit until Sans came too, hips rocking on the dick inside and pussy hugging tight. Fluids leaked between his legs.

The cock pulled out slowly, softening as it withdrew and then disappearing in a flash of flame. A hand forced Sans to look Pyrope in the eye. Sans made himself meet his gaze, wary of reaching the limit of times he would let him look away.

“What else gets you off?”

“Uh...”

Pyrope snorted a little.

“What's with all this embarrassment? Is this your gimmick or something? Muffet should have told you it's more annoying than cute. I know you're new to the job, but you can't be that new to sex.”

Sans didn't have anything to say to that.

A hand traced up his spine.

“Maybe I should force an answer out of you the old fashioned way.” The hand was inside his rib cage. Sans wasn't sure if the threat was related to the proximity to his soul, but the very idea of it made him sweat. The hand tightened on his spine, just shy of too hard. “You sure you don't like pain?”

“Spanking!”

The hand released him. Pyrope's mouth was slack, like it was halfway to speaking but couldn't decide.

“What was that?”

“...spanking...”

Sans' voice was about as small as he wanted to be. He wanted to shrink down to the quantum level, too small to be seen by the naked eye and too uncertain to be tied up and observed.

There was a pause, then Pyrope burst into laughter that made the flames on his head crackle into the air around him. A hand reached up to wipe his fiery eye, as though tears could come out of it.

“I'm sorry, oh my god, I don't mean to laugh, it's only that it's _extremely hilarious_.”

Sans' whole body scrunched up as much as his position would allow. Pyrope's many hands surrounded him to unlock him from the shackles and help him down, lowering him gently. One hand lifted his head.

“Ohhh Sans. Sans. You have no idea how happy I am.”

A hand led Sans to the couch, the rope slithering between his feet to meet him there. Several hands set up pillows in a pile in the middle, and when Sans climbed up onto the couch, more hands bent him over the pile so the highest point held his crotch up. His face was pushed down into the cushion while the rope slid up his back and tied up his wrists.

“Make a cock.”

Sans let his cunt disappear, but before he formed a cock, a finger tapped his teeth.

“Uh-uhn. What do you say when I give you an order?”

“Y...yes, master.”

Sans wriggled. The hand moved from his mouth to his cheek. Sans took that as his cue and made his dick appear. For once, it formed hard, pressing into the soft pile of cushioning beneath it.

A hand cupped Sans' behind, rubbing gently. Sans tensed in anticipation. Why did he have to blurt this out? As if he didn't have enough reasons not be able to look his childhood friend in the eye ever again.

But Pyrope did seem pretty practiced at this. Despite laughing at first, it didn't feel like he thought this was something weird.

The hand was still just rubbing at the ruined fabric of Sans' pants. Another hand wrapped around Sans' dick, stroking it once, then moving fingers over the shaft in a light, almost tickling motion. Sans bucked in surprise.

“A-ah!”

The hand pumped him again, encouraging Sans to fuck the cushion for more friction. Pyrope's head disappeared from its place beside the couch and reappeared in a flurry of sparks over Sans' shoulders.

“This time, you're not going to come until I tell you that you can.”

That seemed like a pretty unfair thing to ask Sans to control. He stilled himself. So long as he wasn't thrusting with abandon, just spanking shouldn't—

The hand rubbing his behind suddenly lifted up and swatted him once. Hot arousal shot down his spine and made his cock bounce. The forward push forced his cock to rub into the hand holding it. The thumb pressed against the slit and slid down the head, precum dribbling steadily after it. Sans scrambled his legs out behind him on the couch cushion.

“Haa...gg...ukk...n-not fair...”

He was spanked again, the hand stroking his cock now lubed up with his precum. His hips bounced into the pillows with the force of the slap. He could feel the fabric getting wet and sticky under his lap. Sans pressed his face into the couch and let out more stuttered moans.

“None of that. I want to hear you.”

A hand turned Sans' head so his cheek rested on the couch. Out of the corner of his eye, Sans could see Pyrope fixedly gazing at him.

The hand spanked him several times in a row, not letting up between each hit. Even with his mouth uncovered, the noises that came out of Sans were like muffled whimpers.

“Ah! Nn...mn..hn...”

The speed of the hand smacking him picked up, building intensity like the rush to a powerful climax. Sans' hips jerked, humping the pillows in an uncontrollable spasm. The hand around his cock squeezed, choking an orgasm out of him.

“Ahhh...ha...haa...ahhhhh!”

Sans felt dizzy, like he was tumbling into release, being forced into a pleasure too heavy for him to get up from.

It felt incredible.

The hand had stopped spanking him. It had gone back to cupping his behind, rhythmically pushing Sans' hips down into the pillows as though Sans weren't already willingly fucking them like an animal in heat. The hand didn't go back to full, hard hits, but periodically rubbed at him and gave small encouraging slaps, barely lifting an inch from him with each one.

Sans felt his cum wetting the cushions under him. The other hand kept stroking his cock mercilessly, forcing him to come until his hips were shuddering hard, his body protesting that it was beyond spent. But the hand impossibly coaxed one last squirt of release out of him, then let go and slid up to rub affectionately under his stomach, leaving Sans' dick twitching and oversensitive. The eased come down from the frenzied orgasm made Sans feel blissfully sated.

Hands lifted Sans below the waist, raising his crotch above the pillows. Sans' body was limp like a ragdoll. Steam rose from his lap, cum dripping down messily from him, some sticky threads of it clinging from his lap to the cushions. It had soaked partway down his thighs and up his stomach.

Pyrope made a 'tsk'ing sound at the mess, but he looked pretty pleased, so maybe it wasn't so bad after all that Sans had failed to follow instructions. He didn't think he could have complied anyway. Maybe Pyrope had changed his mind about what he wanted partway through—he'd been fairly aggressive about making Sans come.

But Pyrope's next words didn't seem to match the seductive half-lidded expression on his face.

“Uh oh, looks like I'm gonna have to punish you, Sans.”

Sans' entire body tensed up. The blissful afterglow was frozen by terror. He'd fucked up, he was in for it, the pleasure he'd just felt was only a way to cruelly prepare him for this. To act as a contrast to the torture he'd been tricked into earning.

“B-but I...I d-d-didn't...I'm sorry! I couldn't help it, I tried b-but I...”

He hadn't tried all that hard.

“D-d-don't hurt me please, please don't hurt m-me—”

Pyrope looked taken off guard.

“Hurt? I'm not—”

Pyrope looked closer at Sans' face.

“Ha, don't tell me you forgot the safeword?”

Sans fought through the haze of panic.

“The...the wh-what?”

“Are you serious? The safeword. Pyro?”

Sans blinked wearily. He'd thought that was another trap to get him punished. After all, to say it, he would have to break the rule of only calling him 'master.'

Pyrope sighed and lifted Sans by his underarms, easing him into a reclining position on the couch away from the mess. He released the rope around his wrists and wrapped a blanket over Sans' shoulders. Sans sat there shivering, only half aware of what was happening as his eyes looked ahead unseeing, his mind fallen into past punishments.

The rope rubbed his shoulder blade in circles. Pyrope dipped his head as though trying to duck under Sans' panic.

“Hey, did you...even want to do tonight?”

“What?”

“You would have told Muffet no if the idea of it freaked you out too much, right?”

Sans could only stare at him. He wasn't sure if Pyrope was taunting him or was actually serious.

“Sans? Why aren't you answering?”

“I don't, uh...really get what you're asking?”

Pyrope looked like he no longer wanted to ask.

“You would have said no, right?”

Sans didn't even begin to know what to say to that. 'I can't' felt so obvious that it didn't bear verbalizing. Pyrope's searching expression resolved into something akin to horror.

“Oh shit. Oh fuck. No, no, no. You're not serious?”

Sans didn't bother wearing an expression, leaving his face in the default neutral that took as little effort at possible.

“About what?”

Floating hands grabbed Sans by the shoulders. Pyrope's smile was desperate.

“Sans, tell me you don't _have_ to do this.”

“What else would this be?”

The hands let go.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.”

Pyrope got up and immediately tripped, part of his rope tangling. A hand covered his mouth like he was going to be sick.

“Sans, I—” a hand reached out, then snapped back. “—I gotta go.”

He stumbled toward the door. Sans was struck with a terrifying thought.

“Wait!”

Pyrope halted and turned his head. Ridiculously, he looked afraid of Sans.

“You're not gonna...complain to Muffet, are you? Ask for a...refund or something?”

Pyrope was silent. Sans looked at his knees, gripping the cushion hard in an attempt to still the shaking of his hands.

“I think I'd g-get in trouble is all...”

Sans was startled by the sound of shoes stomping back toward him. He was grabbed again.

“Why didn't you tell me?!”

Pyrope shook Sans a little for emphasis. Now Sans had done it. He was already in trouble.

“I...thought you kn-knew? I thought...everybody knew...”

“You—if I'd known, I never would have—! I'm not a bad person! But you made me—”

He pushed Sans with enough force to get him on his back. Sans expected to be mounted again right there, but he was left in place, Pyrope in his own world hunched at the edge of the couch.

“You didn't warn me. I wouldn't have done that if I'd known, I'm not like that. I'm a good person.”

Sans wondered if Pyrope knew that most of the workers weren't 100% happy to serve either, despite not sharing Sans' circumstances. That even Shyren, who was here of her own will, was sometimes pressured by Muffet to entertain ten monsters in one night. Because that was her job.

Suddenly, Pyrope rounded on him.

“You enjoyed it. I made you feel good, right? I didn't do anything bad to you.”

Sans still hadn't gotten up from his back, and Pyrope's vicious tone made Sans quake.

“Y-yeah it...it felt really g-good. I l-liked...”

Pyrope was leaning over him almost menacingly. Sans put his hands up, whether in surrender or to put a small barrier between them, he wasn't sure. He closed his eyes, and his volume dropped to a broken whisper.

“...I liked it...”

“Why are you acting like that? I didn't hurt you.”

Sans flinched. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, covering his face with his hands.

“I'm s-sorry, I. Tell me what to do, just tell me what to d-do...”

“Fuck.”

Sans felt the couch adjust as Pyrope got off it. He heard a crash that made him curl his legs protectively over himself. He let out a frightened sob through his hands. After the crash stopped ringing in his ears, he heard the sharp tap of footsteps and the slam of the door.

When he calmed enough to get himself off the couch, he saw that Pyrope had upended the room's large table and thrown it several feet across the floor.

 

 

When Sans left the private room, Muffet was there waiting for him with her arms crossed.

“Sans. _What was that_.”

“I...”

Sans took one stumbling step back. It didn't help. Muffet advanced on him.

“You upset your client.”

“I'm s-sorry, I...I d-did everything he said—!”

Muffet grabbed Sans' wrists and held them together, and Sans' pupils shrunk to pinpricks. He trembled in her grip, unable to make himself say anything else.

“You of all monsters should know by now that it doesn't just take following orders. You have to take care of them. It's your job to please them, not make them feel like a brute.”

Sans choked.

“I g...ot s-scared, _please_ —”

“And before that, you didn't think for one moment that you shouldn't be brutally honest with him? You couldn't just tell him you loved it and leave it at that?” She tightened her grip on Sans' wrists and tugged down, forcing Sans to his knees. “What did Onion even train you for?”

“I d-didn't think about it, please, Muffet, don't hurt me, I'll do b-b-better I s-swear I'll...d-do better, please give me a chance I c- _can't_ ”

Muffet let go of his wrists. There was a light bruise already blooming where she'd held.

“You made a big mistake this time, Sans. You may have lost me a client. Do you understand the loss that entails? _You can't make up for it_.”

“There's, there's g-gotta be...”

Sans regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth unfinished.

“I may have to balance it out by lifting some of your restrictions. Get you doing higher-paying work.”

Sans knew what that meant. Sessions with gangs. Sadistic clients let off their metaphorical leashes. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered.

“M-muffet.”

“But that's only if we do lose him. We'll see, I suppose.”

Muffet touched a hand to Sans' head, then walked away. Sans bent over into a shuddering ball.

 

 

“Does Muffet kind of...”

Cecil and Shyren watched Sans with interest, waiting for him to finish. Now he probably wouldn't get away with claiming the first half of his sentence was just a really weird-sounding burp. Sans mumbled the rest.

“...scare the shit out of either of you...?

The other two exchanged a glance. Shyren looked thoughtful.

“She doesn't bother me much...I have different circumstances, I know, but I'm usually able to put my foot down with her. I suppose I have a loyal enough client base that she doesn't see me as a...priority.”

She looked sorry for Sans as she said it. He already deeply regretted bringing it up.

So Muffet wasn't like this to everyone.

But Sans was actually interested if Cecil had anything to say about it, especially considering they'd shown signs of distrust with Muffet before. As he waited for Cecil to answer, they were taking their time with their food.

“...she used to.”

Was that all Sans would get?

Cecil looked to the side.

“She kinda lost interest in me, I guess after...”

They snapped to look at Sans and then waved their hands in the air.

“I mean—I wouldn't really recommend that route, I'm sure there are better ways to uh...get her off your back...not sure what they are, really...”

They muttered the last words uncertainly. The whole thing was a little cryptic, but Sans figured he had enough pieces of the puzzle to put that together.

He knew Cecil had some kind of breakdown, enough that everyone had noticed and it was common knowledge with the other workers. He knew that Muffet had changed their schedule to have them service clients less.

But Sans had a sickening feeling that even if he went catatonic, Muffet would still be able to find someone who would be willing to pay to fuck him for revenge.

Sans was pulled out of his ponderings when he noticed Cecil looking very intense. Sans might not have noticed if he'd only met the mouse today, but when they spoke, their voice shook almost imperceptibly.

“Anyway, the _really_ disgusting one is Onion.”

Sans felt like he'd been stripped naked.

What made them say that? It was like they were piercing through him, could see him writhing under the octopus' touches, making pitiful nonverbal supplications for more of his comfort. Sans felt like he was back in that moment with Onion looking at him and _knowing_ and...they hadn't even had sex and they'd still finished with Sans feeling fucking _ravished_ , how was that fucking fair?

Sans bunched his jacket tighter to himself and stuffed his hand in his pocket, feeling the radio he'd taken with him.

It wasn't like he took it out to talk to Onion anywhere other than in his own room, but having it around with him made him feel more secure. It didn't make sense, because Onion hadn't been able to protect Sans from Muffet's anger before. But Sans felt that remembering what Onion taught him more often than not got him out of trouble with clients faster, and the radio at least served as a physical reminder.

Sans realized he hadn't responded to Cecil's comment. He blurted out the most flippant reply he could come up with.

“He's got a face for radio, that's for sure.”

Cecil jolted like they'd been zapped by static.

“What did you just say?”

“Uh...you know...that thing that people say when...someone's really ugly...?”

Cecil shook their head, chasing a thought out.

“Nevermind, I'm...I need more sleep.”

Shyren pat Cecil on the back. Sans kept nervously stroking the radio hidden in his pocket with a finger.

 

 

Sans sat on a bench in the open hall he'd met Alphys in before. The human was running late. An unwelcome stray thought whispered that they weren't coming because they were dead, so to head that descent into madness off at the pass, Sans took out his cell phone and fiddled with it.

He glanced anxiously at the tall doorway. The soft blow of an underground air current was so well-timed as he watched the door, he was half-surprised he didn't see a tumbleweed bounce by just to pull the picture together.

Well, so long as he was going to think crazy thoughts either way. Sans took a deep breath and held his phone to his ear, playing the second message.

 

**

Brother! I suppose you didn't get my first message. I'm sure you're very busy. I'm busy here as well—

*

Brother, it's very unprofessional not to return phone calls. I know we're family, but you should be acting like an adult in all aspects of your life. It's just good practice! Anyways, that was what I called to tell you about. I called to talk to you about phone calls.

*

Sans, I waited three days this time. I was reading that etiquette book you gave me, and it says that you're supposed to wait three days to call? I'm not sure why it was specific about that, but apparently it's very important if you want someone to call you back. Did you know about this rule?

_Shuffling noises._

It's right here in a chapter on...wait a second...

_The sound of a book falling._

FUCK never mind, forget what I—! Did you replace the cover as a prank?? Is this why you were laughing when I attempted to 'neg' Undyne as a gesture of friendship?! DON'T FUCKING LAUGH AT ME, DELETE THIS MESSAGE IMMEDIATELY

**

 

Sans snickered.

“Okay, Boss.”

He deleted the message, then played the next one.

 

* *

_An exasperated sigh._

Sans, listen, I'm not actually that mad at you. I don't know what you heard, but just call me back. I'm not going to lecture you about pranks the _entire_ time, just for ten minutes or so. Call me and take your fucking medicine.

* 

Very funny. I know you think you're too good for Snowdin now, but surely you're not too good to give me the time of day.

* 

You would do well to return my calls.

* 

Sans.

_A long pause._

I miss yo-/

* 

DISREGARD ALL MESSAGES BEFORE THIS. DELETE THEM. IF YOU ALREADY HEARD THEM, DELETE THEM FROM YOUR MEMORY. I COMMAND IT!

**

 

Sans gave a wet chuckle and wiped his nasal ridge on his sleeve.

“Heh, okay Boss.”

He deleted messages one through nine. He played number ten.

 

* *

The Great Snowdin Mystery serial, Part One. It was a grand day in Snowdin, as it often is when the Grand Papyrus is out on patrol, protecting the town from harm. However, when he returned to his station later that evening, he saw that something was amiss. An item of interest was missing from behind the booth. The booth's mascot, rigged up by the skeleton brothers some years ago: not just any bland bauble, but a bumble bee bobble-headed bottle bid to babble by a voice box button bound to the bundle.

_A pause, and a whisper._

Nyeh-heh. Did it.

The Grand Papyrus discovered a set of suspicious footprints headed away from the station. But only a few feet away from the booth...the footprints stopped! Dun dun DUNNN. Stay tuned next time, as more of this tantalizing mystery unfolds—! Narrated by up-and-coming radio star and professional excellent voice-haver, The Grand Papyrus!

* 

The Great Snowdin Mystery serial, Part Two. The bauble returns! But something is wrong with it—it appears to have been...decorated against its will. On its bobbling head rests a pair of silly glasses with nose and mustache attached, not at all the correct style for such a cool bee. And an undignified tattoo has been drawn onto it, depicting inappropriate flesh anatomy.

On the desk, like a challenge, the thieving vandals have left a calling card for the Grand Papyrus to discover: an icy feather that melts when he picks it up in his dexterous fingers.

* *

 

Sans heard footsteps coming from down the hall and quickly turned the message off. The human appeared through the far doorway and made their way up to him, taking a seat beside him.

“Hey sweetheart. How's tricks?”

They didn't answer directly. Sans saw circles under their eyes. They looked too distracted to answer on their own account, but Sans' phone caught their attention.

“Am I interrupting?”

Sans looked down at his phone.

“Nah, I was just...passing the time waiting for you. I do have a really cool story for you to hear, though. You like mysteries?”

Frisk nodded and scooted closer, putting their head on Sans' shoulder. It was a testament to how easy the child made him feel that he didn't flinch.

Sans was about to play message number ten again when his phone rang. He nearly toppled backwards, but the human caught his back and steadied him. He gave them a harried glance as the phone kept ringing. They didn't appear surprised by the interruption.

“You should answer it.” Then they gave him a strangely piercing stare. “And you should tell him the truth.”

“Heh...yeah right, kid.”

Sans shakily pressed answer on his phone and held it to his ear.

“The Great Snowdin Mystery serial, Part Thr—”

There was a stretch of silence.

“Sans? Did you pick up?”

“Y-yeah Boss. ...hi.”

“Sans! To be honest, I was starting to get a bit—” There was a crackling static noise, like Papyrus had switched the phone to his other ear. “What's the job like? Oh—have you been washing your clothes often enough? Wait, did you buy more clothes? You know it's better if you wash more often, but they also get threadbare faster if—”

“Hey, Boss.”

“Yes, I realize that was more than one question, and you had better answer all of them.”

“Boss, just a note on your radio play. I don't think you need to mention that your fingers are dexterous.”

“But they are!”

“I know, bro, but it's not really relevant to you picking up a clue. It wasn't like...difficult to pick up or anything.”

“Of course the first thing you have to say about it is criticism! What do you know about art??”

“Nothing, I'm just saying, is all.”

“Ugh!”

Sans heard tapping. He could picture clearly his brother clacking his fingers against the phone in irritation. Sans swallowed.

“The job is fine, Boss.” The child was pouting at him. “I've basically been doing nothing but working and sleeping. It's, you know, tough getting started and all. Sorry I...didn't answer the phone.”

Papyrus sighed.

“I figured it was something like that. Rationally.”

There was an awkward pause.

“I'll admit that sometimes, even someone like me can be...irrational. A lot of things happened recently, and when you didn't call back, for maybe a moment I had a thought that...”

Sans didn't notice he was trembling until he felt the human's arms gripping tight around his middle, grounding him.

“Do you think you might have time to call me more often from now on?”

“Uh! Yeah...Boss. Of course. Sorry.”

“Right. Well. Your clothes...?”

“I've got more and they're getting washed, I promise. It's like I'm a real professional.”

“Good. Yes. Well, that was all. All the best.”

“You...too, Boss.”

Papyrus hung up. The human took the phone out of Sans' hand immediately, which was remarkably good timing considering Sans had been about to impulsively slam it to the floor.

Papyrus' simple request for him to call more had been so fucking vulnerable. It was like Sans' weakness was catching. For one second, Sans had a clearer understanding than he'd ever had of why Asgore wanted him out of Papyrus' life.

The phone rang again. Sans and Frisk both stared at it. Sans took a breath, then grabbed it back from them and answered, waiting to hear his brother's voice as though it would set off a bomb.

“Sans, don't pick up the phone like an idiot, I'm trying to leave a message with the next part of my Great Snowdin Mystery serial.”

“Oh...sorry, Boss.”

“Goodbye, Sans.”

“Later.”

 

 

This time, when Muffet finished latching the collar on him, Sans rushed to grab her by the legs.

“Sans! What do you think you're doing?”

“Not in my room, please not in my room, please not here—”

“Clients have had you in your room before, Sans, it's not a big deal.”

“It _is_ , it's—c-can't you do something else to me? Not...not him, please—”

“Sans.”

Muffet pet his head and pulled his arms away, and he didn't fight.

“I want you to show me that you can be good. So do as I say, and don't complain.”

Sans bit back his words. Pointing out what an unfair test of obedience that was wouldn't do him any good. So he stayed put while Muffet left him, then huddled up to wait. For once he'd rather encourage getting fucked into the floor than moving things to the bed.

When Lesser Dog opened the door, he looked like the cat that caught the canary, so to speak.

“Is this really your room, shortstuff?”

When Sans didn't respond, the dog swaggered in and tossed his coat on the floor.

“Don't mind if I do.”

Lesser Dog yanked Sans' head up by the collar and framed his face with his other hand.

“You want me to visit you in here off hours, Sansy? Bet you get bored without me around, right?”

Sans couldn't think of a safe way to answer that, so he stayed silent. Unfortunately, not answering was also a bad response. The dog tossed him onto the bed.

Sans had only just scrambled to get off his back before Lesser Dog was looming over him from the edge of the bed, trapping him.

“Strip.”

He wanted to get it over with, but he couldn't get his hands to unbutton his shirt any faster. Lesser Dog didn't seem to find much pleasure in the tease either, because while Sans shucked his shirt, the dog was yanking Sans' pants off. The dog collar stayed on.

Lesser Dog grabbed Sans by the shoulders and scooted him so that he was sitting with his back against the wall and his legs in front of him, the dog settling on his knees on the bed in front of Sans. Even kneeling, he cast Sans in shadow. Sans didn't look up.

Lesser Dog wrenched Sans' legs apart as though he were going to struggle. The quick, violent motion made Sans clutch tight to the sheets and huff in a shallow breath.

“Diddle yourself.”

Sans' breath caught. He looked up. The dog was grinning down at him with the look monsters got when they were proposing a particularly nasty bet and expected a welch. That seemed about right.

When Sans hesitated, though, the dog grabbed one of Sans' hands and forced it between his legs.

“Go on.”

Sans really didn't want to do that. But how badly did he not want to do that?

“P-please...touch me instead.”

“What's that? What do you want?”

“I w-want you to touch me.”

The dog leaned down and reached his other hand between Sans' legs, thumbing his pubic bone.

“Since you asked nice, puppy.”

He licked Sans' face, then brought a hand up and licked over his own fingers. When he reached back down to fondle Sans again, the wet warmth made Sans twitch into the touch.

“Ah—! D-don't...please, move your hand for a...for just a s-second...”

To Sans' surprise, Lesser Dog didn't use the opportunity to intimidate him. He set his hand down on the mattress, letting Sans form his cunt.

Then the fingers were back on him, sliding over the lips and wriggling inside, then pumping into him. This didn't feel at all like last time, like

the punishing scratch of stiff wood

Lesser Dog's finger's touched bone. Sans' pussy had blinked out of existence. The dog looked down, first in shock, then annoyance.

“The hell is that?”

“I...w-wait, I can...I can d-do it...”

Sans touched the dog's hand with his, and to his immense relief the dog allowed him to push the hand away from him so he could make his cunt again.

Sans had to concentrate extra hard to make it this time, only to be rewarded by a harsh zap up his spine as it appeared. He hunched his shoulders in distress.

Before Sans could assess the problem, Lesser Dog's fingers were back inside him. It didn't feel good anymore, though the dog clearly thought it did, by his mumbled swearing and lewd encouragement. The thought of the dog keeping at it filled Sans with dread.

Sans tensed around the fingers, a small whimper of pain escaping him as the tightness only made the intrusion stand out more.

Then his pussy stuttered out again.

Lesser Dog shook wetness from his hand and glared down at Sans.

“You being naughty with me, pup?”

“I'm—it's not—!”

This wasn't going well. If he couldn't do this, he'd get punished.

Sans could hear his bones clattering against the wall at his back.

He would have to move this along somehow. Get Lesser Dog distracted by something else. Sans put a hand into the dog's lap, feeling for the tip of his penis, then leaned in and gave it a lick over the clothes.

“And just what do you think you're doing?”

Sans looked up at the dog without tilting his head up. A pose Onion had taught him with very precise and insistent tentacles arranging his head and directing his gaze to just the right angle.

“L-let me...let me suck you off. I. I wanna suck your c-cock.”

Lesser Dog actually looked surprised. Sans felt the stiff erection give an eager twitch into his fingers through the pants. A wet spot was growing where precum was already pouring out.

The dog's response was to settle back and open his legs up. He looked at Sans with interest.

Sans brought himself forward, his upper half bending over into the dog's lap. He unzipped the dog's pants and pulled the cock out, giving it a preparatory stroke. It bounced and dribbled more precum over his hand.

Sans opened his mouth over the tip, swirling his tongue around it and giving one hard suck, popping his mouth off it to take a breath. When he lowered his mouth over it again, he took in more, past the tip, grazing his tongue back and forth under the head.

His mouth was already filling up. He swallowed, rolling his tongue and pumping the shaft with his hand. The dog's hand pressed down on his head, so he stayed there gulping for a while.

Then the cock bucked up into him, startling him so much that he had to pull away, coughing hard.

A hand shoved his head into the sheets where he'd coughed up the fluids, holding him there until he gave a nervous lick. The hand let go of him.

“Hm. Not good enough.”

Lesser Dog moved off the bed. He didn't indicate for Sans to follow, so Sans waited there and watched Lesser Dog's movements. What exactly did he mean, not good enough? He was pretty sure it was better than it was before, and the dog seemed happy enough just to fuck Sans' face the first time. But maybe the dog had gotten bored already.

Sans barely had time to register confusion before his joints locked in terror. Lesser Dog had opened the closet and taken out a broom, and he was approaching him with it.

Sans' jaw was stuck, but he managed to open it enough to let out a whine in a pitch higher than his natural voice.

“M-muffeeet...”

Lesser Dog was on top of him, holding the broom handle to his teeth like a quieting finger.

“Shh, shh, shh. I'm not gonna hurt you, puppy. You're just gonna practice sucking on this until you can do it right for me.”

Sans' teeth chattered as the handle clacked against them.

“Open wide.”

The dog shoved the handle into his mouth. Sans sobbed brokenly around it, curling up his body.

“Come on, come on puppy, give us a lick.”

Still hiccoughing, Sans licked up the tip of the handle. Lesser Dog straddled him, grabbing a leg with his other hand.

“Keep your legs open.”

Sans let out a high whimper.

“I'm not gonna put it in you, I just want you to keep your legs open.”

Sans spread out underneath him. Lesser Dog dipped the broom in and out of his mouth, making Sans choke. He felt the dog's erection sit in his lap.

“Make a pussy for me.”

Sans put his hands up on the dog's chest in a wordless plea, sucking on the broom with more energy and hugging the dog's erection with his thighs in an attempt to hide that there wasn't anything there yet.

The dog slammed a hand into Sans' chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Sans went absolutely still, bringing his hands down to grip at the covers and taking fast breaths through his nose.

Lesser Dog let go of the broom, but Sans didn't dare move his mouth off it. The dog brought Sans' soul forward through his chest, then bent his head down to lick over it. Tears streamed freely down Sans' face, the feral noises of fear he made muffled by the wood. Lesser Dog only paused his licking to shush him before going back to work.

When his pussy formed, Sans let out a stifled scream, and his hands shot between his legs.

“What the—I didn't even—”

Sans felt the broom pulled out of his mouth and heard it clatter to the floor. He curled over on his side in a fetal position, clutching his hands to his groin with his thighs. There wasn't anything in him, nothing was touching him, so why did it hurt so bad?

“The fuck is going on?”

“get muffet, please get muffet”

Lesser Dog ignored him, forcing his thighs apart and looking down.

“Holy shit—!”

“t-tell muffet, please, something's wrong”

The dog snorted and bent in closer.

“Actually, I like this. It's like we're right where we left off, isn't it?”

He pumped his cock and sat it over Sans' cunt, rubbing at the slit.

“n-no no...no no please please”

The dog was closing the space above him with his bulk. But for the second time, Sans saw an opening for escape. He kicked himself out from under the dog, then dove for the radio on his bedside table.

“Onion! Onion help me!”

Lesser Dog caught him around the chest, the radio still just out of reach. Sans reached his hands crazily at the air.

A hand picked up the radio and tossed it aside. Both Sans and the dog paused their struggles. Muffet had entered the room, and they hadn't even heard the door open.

“Let go of him, please.”

Lesser Dog huffed and raised his hands, dropping Sans carelessly in a pile. Sans' insides screamed in pain.

“You can finish with him another time. I'm going to have to see what's wrong.”

The dog gave no protest as he left the room, closing the door behind him. Muffet pulled Sans back onto the bed and laid him down. Sans stuffed his hands back between his legs as though the pain was a leak he could plug.

One of Muffet's hands glowed green. Sans let out a whimpering sigh. She was going to heal him.

But the glowing hand didn't come near him. Instead, another hand held him down by the sternum.

“M...Muffet...”

“Sans.”

“M-muffet please it. It hurts really bad, it really h-hurts...”

“Who were you calling for help just now?”

“Y...you...”

“Yes, dear, and I was on my way. But who after that?”

“Please Muffet, please, I th-think it's...it f-feels torn, it's b-bad”

A hand stroked down Sans' cheek.

“Dear, do you know why Onion can't help you?”

“muffet please”

A hand clasped around his spine and Muffet's face took up all of Sans' vision, teeth bared in anger.

“Because he. Lives. In. A. TANK.”

“ahuc...hgk...muh...”

Muffet pulled Sans' legs apart and lowered her glowing hand toward him.

“Only I'm here, Sans. This is my house.”

She touched him, and the healing magic spread over his pussy, pulling together the splintered tears and easing it back into its proper form. The relief was so intense, Sans almost started crying anew.

As she continued repairing, Sans' breath evening and slowing, Muffet cupped his face and forced him to look at her.

“Now, there's no need for Onion to hear about this little incident, is there?”

“n-no”

“Not going to go crying to him about booboos?”

“I w-won't, I swear”

Muffet let go of his face, inspecting the healing job before letting him dispel. She pat his pelvis.

“There, it's just like nothing was ever wrong.”

 

 

Sans woke up in the middle of the night to hands pawing at his lap.

He tried to turn around, but he couldn't move. He couldn't get any sound out of his mouth, either. He was paralyzed, stuck mute on his stomach with hands groping at him. His pussy formed in reaction and he couldn't even whimper.

He heard panting over his shoulder. Thought he heard a voice growl about plugging him up, then felt a suggestive bump to his hips.

It felt like he was trapped in that moment for hours, unable to fight or scream, not even able to indicate he was willing to submit in exchange for mercy.

Then the room changed. Sans could have sworn the lights had been turned on a moment ago, but now they were off, just as he'd left them. No one was on top of him. As soon as he realized he could move, he swiped his hands all around, but touched nothing.

He stumbled to the light switch and flipped it on. No one was there.

The door was still closed, the room as a whole completely unmolested, with no sign anyone had stolen in during the night.

And then he realized. Sleep paralysis.

That hadn't happened to him in a long time—he'd almost forgotten how it felt. Almost. But every part of it was recognizable to him now as he slipped further from a groggy daze.

He was a little surprised this hadn't happened to him here already. He'd had plenty of nightmares in Red City. But sleep paralysis hadn't been a problem...

...up until Muffet let the dog rape him in here.

Sans peered over at the walkie-talkie Muffet had left stranded on the floor and made a reckless split-second decision.

 

 

Sans thought he would have more trouble falling back asleep, but the hallway outside his door was peaceful and empty, with no sign of traffic at this hour. The white noise of air blowing through the vents lulled him back to sleep as he curled around the radio.

 

 

A hand was shaking his shoulder. Sans bolted upright with the certainty that he'd gotten himself in trouble again.

“I didn't tell him—I didn't tell him anything, I swear, I just like to have it near—”

He was met with Cecil's face.

“—me...”

Cecil's expression was confused until their eyes fell on the radio, and their pupils turned to slits.

“No. No no no no.”

Cecil grabbed the radio and held it away from Sans. Sans automatically made to reach for it before he realized what his action was admitting.

“ _How long have you had this?_ ”

Cecil's voice was angrier than Sans had ever heard it. The tone was venomous.

“I...uh...!”

Sans knew it was just a coincidence, that Onion often turned his end of the radio on at late hours to check that Sans was sleeping through the night, but the sudden flashing on of the radio's little red light still felt like a damning accusation on a fucking cosmic scale.

When Cecil saw it, they apparently knew what it meant. They flipped the radio on, and before Onion could say a word, shouted into the radio's mouth a lightning-quick: “we don't want any!” and then hung up.

“H-hey...”

Sans reached for the radio again. Cecil held it away.

“You don't get it, you don't understand—you can't have this. You can't—”

“Give it back, twerp, d-don't...don't...d-d-do this to me.”

“You're losing it! You don't need this! I'm—I'm gonna hide it!”

Sans scrambled over them, abandoning any reserve and giving a vicious struggle to get it back. He overpowered them easily, but when he looked back down at them, he saw that they'd stopped fighting to nurse their eye. Sans felt guilty, but he also felt angry—he couldn't help blaming them for the burning humiliation coursing through him. They'd practically forced him to expose himself in the worst way.

He wasn't strong like them. He needed this stupid fucking thing. He needed _something_ , someone stronger than him even if they were awful, he needed to hold on or he'd slip into a pit and never stop falling.

Cecil spoke in a quiet voice from the floor, not looking up at Sans.

“I had one of those. When I was at my lowest. Do you know what he said to me?”

Sans tried not to listen, but he was transfixed. Cecil got up on their knees, holding the side of their head in one hand.

“That son of a bitch...that...he...”

They bent forward, their face hidden from view.

“He told me he _loved_ me.”

They raised their head, and tears were streaming down their cheeks.

“Ha...ha...h-how fucked up is that...?”

Sans fidgeted where he stood.

“The bastard stole my life from me. I was just a kid...he made sure I could do fuck all other than this...I could have trained for the guard. Maybe I don't have strength, but I have speed, I could have studied magic more...what am I good for now?”

They shifted so their knees were bent in front of them in a huddled sit.

“I-I'm sorry I couldn't leave you alone, after you told me you didn't want to hear it, but I...I couldn't stand the thought of...”

They hugged their knees.

“I don't want you to forget who you are.”

Sans went up to them and sat down in front of them.

“Twerp, what the hell are you talking about? You wouldn't have even liked who I was before this. If we'd met on the outside, I'd have stuffed you in a garbage can.”

“Sans, listen...you can't—”

They reached for the radio. Sans flinched, but they only touched it, not moving to take it away. They closed their hands around his, looking directly in his eyes.

“Muffet may run a little hot and cold, but it's pretty easy to know what she wants from us: she wants us to do as she says, and make her money. But Onion, he wants...”

Cecil let go of Sans' hand.

“He wants everything.”

 

 

The second time, Sans waited sitting on his bed, pussy already formed.

When Lesser Dog came in, the dog walked over and sat next to him. He seemed to know he'd pushed his luck and it was time to ease up. He slipped a hand into Sans' pants and played with him gently, and for Sans' part, he tried to make sure he was quick and verbal about all his responses.

Lesser Dog definitely liked it the more he talked.

Sans pulled out every stupid cliché he could think of, told the dog how big he was, how good he was at this. Sans told him how badly he wanted to feel his cock inside him. All of it seemed to work—Sans felt the dog's cock pulse with each word, felt the dog's hot breath on his neck as his lips spread in a smile.

And the dog made Sans feel good, too.

Enough so that by the time they were on round two, Sans was still keyed up and slipping further away from untruths in his dirty talk.

“Beg for it, Sansy.”

The dog had him pinned beneath him, and he was prodding at the opening of Sans' cunt with the head of his dick. The position reminded Sans strongly of the one they'd been in before the broom—before Sans called him a mangy mutt to his face. Lesser Dog seemed to have a penchant for reclaiming moments he felt had been stolen from him.

Lesser Dog moved his dick away from the opening and pushed the tip against Sans' clit. Sans raised his hips.

“A-ah...d-don't...don't tease...”

“Beg.”

“I w-want...”

Sans swallowed.

“I want you to...put your thick cock in my pussy, please...I...”

A finger swirled inside him, barely enough, but it lit him up.

“Ha! Ahh...nm...put...put it in me, please, I want. You to fuck my pussy with your cock, I want you to come hard inside me...please...”

Lesser Dog flipped Sans over and took him from behind, driving into him. Sans let himself scream, his face pushing into the cushion.

“Ahh! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—!”

The pace picked up. Sans felt a spasm. He'd built up a lot quicker this time.

“I'm...I'm already gonna...I'm c-coming...y-you're making me come...”

The dog licked up the back of Sans' neck.

“You like that, don't you? You fucking love it when I hammer your dirty. Little. Hole.”

The dog punctuated his words with hard rhythmic thrusts that made Sans scream.

“I'm coming! I'm...ohh...”

He pressed his face into his arms, body going rigid as orgasm claimed him. He went slack, pleasure still riding through him. Lesser Dog slowed the pace, but he hadn't come yet.

“Want more, pup?”

There was only one answer to that. But, so long as it was going to feel good anyway...

“Ah...mm...don't stop...”

As if on cue, he stopped. Why the fuck did he stop. Why could Sans never be quite good enough for this to quit happening.

Something was odd. Sans didn't feel Lesser Dog pull out, but his cock wasn't inside him anymore. He couldn't feel the weight of his body against his back, either.

Sans heard the creak of the door on its hinge. That's right, since they were in his room, the door didn't lock.

Sans turned.

“Muffet, y-you didn't need t—”

But it wasn't Muffet.

Papyrus stood stock still with a bone blade out, his face frozen in unspeakable anger. There was a fine film of dust floating in the air and Lesser Dog was nowhere to be seen.

Sans peddled backward and pushed his back as hard into the wall as it could go. He scratched wildly to cover his crotch in sheets.

“B-boss, he—he made me say that, I didn't—!”

Partly true.

“He m-made me...!”

Papyrus started to turn away.

“boss”

Papyrus stomped out of the room, scarf fluttering behind him.

 

 

Muffet had presumably sent Frisk to Sans' room for their visit when Sans failed to go out to the long hall. Sans hadn't been able to move himself, even after Woshua came in to get him cleaned and dressed. Even after Woshua moved him to get his clothes on, Sans reverted to a position with sheets bunched between his legs, as though he were hiding something. When the human came into his room, they shut the door softly behind them and sat themselves next to Sans on the edge of the bed.

“He saw me...”

Frisk put their arm around Sans. He didn't appear to register the affection, positive or negative. Sans buried his face in his hands.

“My little bro saw me like this.”

A small, warm hand was rubbing circles on his back.

“...my b-baby brother...”

The human squeezed him tight, then broke away. Their voice was irritatingly full of hope.

“But now you can talk to him! It's...it's hard now, but this is better.”

“The hell it is.”

“You're not being fair to him! He tries to trust you but he, he knew you were hiding something, he didn't think you were happy, he told me—”

In one snapping movement, Sans lifted his face from his hands and fixed the human with a disbelieving stare.

“You...”

He was willing to give the benefit of the doubt, but their face only confirmed their guilt.

_“...you did this?_ You told him about me?”

The human flinched, appeared to consider, then only became more resolute.

“I had to. You weren't changing your mind, and...and I needed to do something before...before we ran out of...”

They trailed off at the look on Sans' face. Sans' left eye gave off a wave of turbulent magic, the pupil hyper-focused to the fine point of a needle.

“g e t  o u t”

“He needs to know what's happened to you, Sans, he wants to help you—”

Sans jolted up from the bed, shrugging away from the child's touch.

“Get out. Get out GET OUT.”

Frisk got up from the bed too, but didn't try to touch him again. They didn't move to leave, either.

“Sans, please. You need your brother. He wants to help you, he really does.”

“What the _fuck_ do you know, you stupid brat?! He hates me! He'd rather I were dead than doing this!”

“That's...not true...”

Sans' head fell back into his hands.

“ _I'd_ rather I was dead.”

Frisk made a move toward him with their arms up, as though to comfort him.

“Stay the fuck away from me!”

The human backed up to the door.

“Sans, please don't be mad, please, I was trying to help you...I...”

Sans formed the shells of blasters and tossed them against the wall, just shy of smashing the human in the head. Not that the weak magic would have done anything, but it got a message across. The human curled up by the door, hands over their head.

“...don't be mad, please don't....be mad at me, please don't be mad at me...”

 

 

<<<<<<<<<<

 

 

“Want more, pup?”

Huh. Déjà vu. But then, how many times had he fucked Lesser Dog already? The words that came out of Sans' mouth felt familiar, like a script he was following.

“Ah...mm...don't stop...”

Then he stopped. Why the fuck did he stop.

Sans felt a powerful shiver run through him. For once, Sans' fear was somewhere buried in the background under lust and desperation, and the sweet sort of despair bought through total surrender to fate. It wasn't Sans shuddering—the dog's body was so heavily laid on him that he felt its shiver clatter his bones like it were his own. The dog hadn't come yet, had he? Sans was sure he would feel that.

Lesser Dog panted, then gave a halted laugh.

“Heh...haha...felt like someone walked over my grave. Spooky.”

He leaned his chin over Sans' shoulder, giving a hard thrust of his hips that made Sans see stars.

“Shit, you're so wet. I tell you you're not a bad fuck when you're behaving yourself, Sansy?”

In lieu of words, Sans responded by pressing his hips backwards and grinding up.

“Fuck!”

Lesser Dog hooked his claws around Sans' thighs and pounded into him, not slowing until the knot at the base of his cock started to grow. Sans responded to the burst of cum flowing into him with a high whine that stuttered out into small hums of contentment.

But he knew better than to think that was enough. He wanted to make sure he kept speaking before Lesser Dog had a chance to tell him what he wanted him to say. Or grow bored and turn this into something else.

“Y-you're cumming so much...it f-feels amazing, it's so hot...”

Lesser Dog moaned into Sans' shoulder.

“You wanted this bad, huh? Your cunt's sucking me dry. You're a dirty little doggy, aren't you?”

The dog was still stuck inside him, and the continued ejaculation was bringing Sans close again. After he spoke, the dog gave Sans a sharp slap on the behind for emphasis. The over-stimulation brought Sans to climax. He came with a small cry like the yelp of an animal.

“You're a dirty little doggy, aren't you?” the dog repeated. Sans' orgasm had distracted him from responding. He was supposed to say something to that.

“I'm a...dirty little b-bitch...I w-wanted it bad...”

Sans was rewarded with the dog rocking their hips together, sloshing the cum inside him. Sans' legs gave out at the knees, and then Lesser Dog was supporting Sans' whole lower body by holding his thighs up in the air to straddle the dog's hips backwards.

“I wanted it...”

The knot didn't shrink for about half an hour, and all the time the dog kept muttering dirty nothings to Sans, and Sans just kept agreeing to whatever the dog called him, whatever he accused him of. Yes, he loved being treated like this. Yes, he thought about the dog when he touched himself. Yes, he played with himself all the time because he was a horny little slut.

Sans could feel any kind of way he wanted later tonight when he tried to sleep. He could have a long cry about it, lose his shit over how much he'd managed to degrade himself. Or he could have a nice dream about it, wake up in the middle of the night in a hot sweat thinking about how the dog could thrust into him so fast it felt like he was being fucked by a machine. Put off the breakdown with a good round of self-service and prove the dog right while he was at it.

It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was the best one he'd managed so far. And it was better than pain. This was definitely better than pain.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, and now it is time for...time shenanigans
> 
> as for the first part of this chapter...  
> i'm just really tickled by the idea that  
> 1) sans had a childhood crush  
> 2) sans has a type  
> 3) sans' type is "on fire"
> 
> as always, i love to hear from you guys if you have any thoughts, fantasies, swearing, or recursive loops of sobbing to share
> 
> if you want more content between updates, come join me on tumblr where i never shut up and i always reblog drawings of sans humping pillows:
> 
> http://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/


	10. I miss you. I need you. What's empathy mean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time around is a little special, because I opened up my Horror Porn Suggestion Box on tumblr and asked what kinks you guys would still like to see. I managed to fit quite a few of them in this chapter! I list them in the end note, if you want to peek ahead. 
> 
> also hey btw this chapter is pretty heavy on the heavier stuff: physical abuse, verbal abuse, psychological abuse, reader abuse. tread with caution or maybe skip to chapter 11
> 
> Go check out my tumblr for more great prizes, like maybe i'll include kinks you want...or maybe i'll ignore them...i dunno...maybe the prize is that i get to talk to my sexy audience?? oh whoops that's just a prize for me nvm ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°) http://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/
> 
> and now for terrible

Sans looked around, but his view was the same from every angle—folded cloth, directly over his eyes. Blindfolded, then—

No. No no no this couldn't be happening, it couldn't, it couldn't be all starting over again. The timeline had reset, he was back in the cell, Clarence was going to come any moment and

Sans felt a hand touch his face. He involuntarily jerked away from it in surprise. He hadn't heard anyone come in, which didn't seem right—he could still vividly recall the way Clarence's shoes echoed as he tapped into the room, the hushed swing of the cell door.

There was a slight pressure on either side of Sans' head, maybe some kind of cloth too, through which Sans couldn't hear anything at all. The hand on his face appeared to be offended by his reluctance, because his head was pressed into the floor. Sans tried to speak, but his mouth was pried open and stuffed up with a rubber gag. Had something changed in this timeline? Had Clarence decided a blindfold wasn't enough?

Sans wasn't tied up the way he remembered, either. Instead of sitting up with his back to the wall, his hands over his head, he was on his side on the floor in a kind of fetal position, with some very complicated restrictions going on. A small wiggle of his body told him that most everything was tied to everything else—his legs were bent up to his chest and tied to his body, his legs strapped to each other, and his arms were tied much the same way—bent at the elbows, tied to each other, and tied to his chest with his hands clasped together in prayer under his chin. Some pressure when he moved his head or his hands also told him his wrists were tied to his jaw by the gag.

He tried to talk to Clarence, to make noises through the gag that might interest him enough to let him speak, but the hand just kept stroking his face. If he could only say just one thing, maybe this could turn out okay. Clarence was psychotic, but he was one of the more reasonable people in Sans' life at the moment, and he was still his friend, right? For whatever that was worth.

Then Sans felt something long and hard jut up into the tight space between his crotch and his tied up thighs. It started vibrating and rubbing on him.

This wasn't Clarence. Clarence would never touch him like this of his own volition, wouldn't even want to be in the room to see it. So where was he? When was he?

Was he wrong about the reset? Right...he must be, because...if this were a reset, he wouldn't remember what was going to happen to him later...he wouldn't know Clarence yet beyond perhaps a strong sense of déjà vu. After all, no matter how many resets there were, the cell was technically their first meeting.

The vibrator pushed more insistently against his groin as though something was supposed to be there. Like Sans was supposed to do something here.

They probably wanted him to make a pussy.

Sans wasn't wearing anything...that might have been another clue that Clarence wasn't involved.

The vibrator was pulled away briefly and Sans felt a light slap on the flat of his tailbone. Whoever was there was getting impatient. Sans was about to form his pussy when the vibrator was back on him, pulsing against his thigh.

The hard contact while Sans was concentrating his magic made him jerk in fear. His body tensed, but he still felt the magic at his groin come to life, and an errant spark up his spine told him it hadn't worked out right. He screeched into the gag, spit dribbling down his chin.

He wanted to curl up against the pain, but he was already as curled up as he was going to get, and it wasn't helping any. He was trapped in that pain and darkness and silence, hyperventilating through his nose.

Finally, he felt the soothing calm of green magic healing his malfunctioning cunt, and the pressure was taken off of his ears. It slipped off like he'd been fitted with thick headphones. A voice was speaking from close enough that it probably came from the monster healing him.

“—hell were you doing, you fucking assholes? You didn't think his reactions were _a little bit weird?_ ”

“Lots of experienced whores get freaked by sense deprivation. It adds a little spice. I didn't think a vibe was gonna fucking tear him in half!”

The voice close to him spoke directly against him, magic still easing the pain between his legs.

“Hey, hey, hey, Sans. It's okay. We're fixing you up. Hold on.”

When the pain had disappeared completely, Sans felt the gag being undone from his mouth. One of the voices from further away spoke up.

“Hey, don't take that out—!”

The voice close to Sans snapped.

“Fuck you!”

Sans gave his own voice a try.

“Wh-what's happening? What's g-going on?”

The voice near him softened its tone.

“You don't remember? I just saw Muffet talking to you an hour ago...”

Did she? Sans almost thought he could recall that now...but it was like the memory was underwater. The words were muffled and the images were blurry. Warped by the overwhelming panic at being blindfolded, at thinking he would have to relive everything...

“Where am I now? What...what day is it?”

The voices in the back started laughing hysterically. The monster by his side slammed something down on the floor.

“You think that's funny, assholes?!”

“He...he literally got his brains fucked out...oh my god...it's hilarious...”

“Shouldn't you be calling us 'sirs,' Loox? You're not being very polite right now.”

The monster over Sans snorted.

“I don't have to be nice to you until the scenario starts. Which is also why you shouldn't be playing with him yet. Whoever let you in here, you can let them know it's their fault that gags are banned this session, so enjoy that, y'couple of cretins.”

There was ugly groaning from the back of the room.

“You did it to yourselves. Now get out!”

Sans heard mumbling and grumbling about 'talkative furniture' and 'always ruins the experience' as the other monsters left.

…okay.

“Sans, I'm Loox. Do you know me?”

“Y-yeah, I think so...you're a worker...Cecil talks about you sometimes?”

“So you know you're in Red City? You remember?”

“I...kind of. It's uh...it's coming back, just...not...uh...tonight...”

A hand was slowly stroking his spine. Sans found that he didn't mind it; it was easing his quaking.

“You don't know the scenario?”

“N-no...”

Loox sighed.

“The fan-favorite Monster Furniture Night is back. I'm guessing you haven't done it before.”

“...no??”

“It's really dumb.”

There was a sound like Loox was tiredly swiping a hand over his own face.

“It's kinda like a lounge night, but while some workers are serving, others are tied up and used as furniture. You got chosen for the short straw, I guess.”

“...I drop a lot of drinks when I serve.”

Loox took his hand away from Sans' spine. Sans fought back a disappointed whine.

“That's right, you're pretty skittish, huh? You uh...you okay with this? The touching and all?”

There wasn't really a reason to deny it anymore. Especially with a friendly.

“It's...fine, actually, could you...keep doing it?” Sans mumbled. “It feels nice...”

Without hesitation, the hand was back on him, joined by another and making pressing and pulling motions on his spine with thumbs and fingers working together.

“Yeah, 'course. You're gonna be tied up like that for a while, so you'll get achey. You'll probably need a massage after too, honestly.”

That didn't sound too bad.

“Since we're not doing gags, just make sure you don't talk to clients unless they talk to you first, and call them 'sir' or 'ma'am,' okay?”

“Right...”

When Loox's hands were further down his spine, approaching his pelvis, Sans trembled. The hands smoothly moved back up, and Loox didn't comment. Sans relaxed a little.

“So the...the clients are...they're allowed to touch us tonight?”

“Yeah. They'll get touchy, and someone's gonna fuck you. Muffet said you're dialed back—only one client gets to full-on do the deed, but some other clients are probably gonna be doing some soft play.”

Loox moved his hands to Sans' shoulder blades and pressed his thumbs into them in circles. The voice was soothing, the touches were gentle, but the words were alarming. A group. This was a group session. Loox could probably feel Sans' tension.

“You're not gonna be alone. As far as workers go, I mean. There'll be a lot of us. Cool?”

Hands delved into the dip of Sans' collar and stroked his clavicle and neck. Sans gave a satisfied shiver.

“Don't worry, I'll be... _looking_ out for you. Eh? Eh?”

Sans didn't respond.

“Oh, you can't...I'm...the guy with the huge eyeball, remember?”

So he did know who this was. Sans had seen an eyeball monster walking around, but he hadn't connected it up in his head with the monster that Cecil sometimes mentioned until now.

“You should have said you'll be 'looxing' out for me.”

“...dammit, you're right.”

 

 

Sans was placed on the floor on his side again, still bound up and blindfolded, but the gag and headphones had been left behind. By the reverberations off the walls, this room sounded a lot bigger than the previous one, probably comparable in size to Lounge B. Maybe it _was_ Lounge B. Sans could hear the sounds of a good deal of monsters in the room. It wasn't quite the volume of a packed house on lounge night, but it was close.

A monster's feet shuffled over his spine horizontally like a footrest and settled in the gap between his legs and stomach, practically cradled by his lap. Sans' bindings and position helped to spread the weight distribution so he wasn't crushed.

Oh, so that's how they were doing this. Sans couldn't help but feel relieved. He'd thought someone might actually sit on him, but even Muffet probably knew he was too delicate for that.

The heel of the foot ground into Sans' crotch.

“Where's your cunt?”

Sans quickly made his cunt appear. Thankfully he was calm and aware enough now that it formed without problems. Then he remembered his instruction for tonight.

“Here, sir.”

The monster gave a satisfied sigh.

“That's better.”

It continued grinding, its foot now partially burying itself in the folds of Sans' pussy. Sans let out a few fearful noises before he could think about it and try at pleasured moans.

“Mm, keep that up, I like it.”

“Y-yes sir.”

Sans thought it might be a little difficult to fake now that he'd been asked to do it, but the monster kept finding new ways to draw frightened squeaks from him with the way it moved over him.

After a while, a heel hooked onto Sans' spine and drew him closer so that Sans could feel the body heat of a third monster. The monster with its feet on him was sitting on another worker like a chair, and had pulled Sans under its knees.

Sans thought it was going to do more to him, but he heard slapping noises that told him it had decided to jerk off while sitting on them instead.

A voice came from the floor near Sans.

“Hey footrest.”

Sans was about to snap automatically, he didn't have to be polite to other workers after all, but the giggling noise the other monster made was so ridiculous it almost made Sans laugh, too.

“I'm—I'm a chair! Heh heh hyuk, ha.”

“...are you high?”

“No, I'm a chair.”

Sans was silent.

“...but yeah, a little, hee heh.”

Sans heard moaning over them. The client was getting close. There were footsteps nearby and the tinkling of glasses with ice—a worker was walking by with drinks.

Then Sans heard the worker blow a raspberry. He heard Loox's voice.

“Eww, Sans, footrests don't fart.”

Sans held his breath to stop from cracking. The client sitting over him and the 'chair' worker bolted upright.

“Loox, I'll fucking kill you! I almost came!”

Loox's voice took on a seductive lilt.

“Ooh, please sir, don't punish me...”

Another monster spoke up from off to the right.

“Ignore him, Icey. Loox tries to get punished at least once per session.”

A pair of thin hands touched Sans and tugged him out from under the other monster. An airy voice spoke.

“Let's get you away from all this commotion, shall we?”

Sans kind of liked the commotion. He'd thought he would hate being around so many monsters when he was completely naked, but the blindfold helped a bit. And he liked being near the other workers and hearing them mouth off without fear. But he was only allowed to have one answer.

“Yes ma'am.”

Sans was carried to a quieter part of the room. The further away Sans and his prone body got from the sound of laughter, the more unease he felt.

He was put down on his back on something soft. He heard more than a few monsters near him, and by what they said, it seemed they were all clients.

“Where's Old Scratch? He's the one who asked for him.”

“The fucker's late. I don't see why he gets to do him anyway. He's already had him.”

“You wanna say no to him, be my guest. He creeps me out, so I don't get in his way.”

The airy voice spoke near Sans again.

“Doesn't mean we can't have fun first.”

A buzzing noise right by his face made Sans start.

“Suck on this.”

“Yes ma'am—”

Sans had barely finished speaking before a vibrating egg was pushed into his mouth. The monster must have had very long arms, or was much bigger than him, because he felt her thin fingers sliding over his clit at the same time.

“Let's see how much you can take here...”

For one second, Sans got a look at the monster as the blindfold was lifted from his left eye. She was spindly, with large eyes. Something reptilian. Then his vision cut out when she slipped her tongue into his exposed eye.

Sans expected pain, but the attention was practiced and sensual. It apparently wasn't enough to disturb the magic in his eye. It wasn't like there was anything else in there to disturb.

She licked delicately over the rim of his socket, then pushed her tongue further in, lapping toward the back and practically kissing his eye.

With that, and her fingers squeezing against the lips of his pussy, Sans couldn't help but start to get worked up. She removed the egg from his mouth and reached down to rub it against the opening of his pussy, and it easily slid in with a wet squelch.

The monster pulled away from his face and focused on moving the shaking egg in and out of his pussy, stimulating the opening.

“You're very wet. You like it when I lick your eye?”

“Y...yes ma'am.”

She gave a breezy laugh.

“You'll like this.”

She took the egg out of him and slipped it under the blindfold. The wet toy teased around the rim of his socket, then went inside.

“Ha-a...mn!”

“Not hurting you, is it?”

“No...ma'am...”

“I'll be kind to you. I'll let you come if you do a good job.”

Sans didn't have time to respond before he felt the monster sitting over his mouth, her pussy against his face. It wasn't too hard to guess what to do.

There was something almost gratifying about the way the monster rocked on top of him when he sucked on her clit, hissed in breath when he pushed his tongue in the hole. He could feel the opening tightening around his tongue as he worked, the walls tensing and pulsing more as she was approaching climax.

It took some time, and the closer she got, the harder she ground down against him. Finally she clenched her thighs around his face, cradling his head with her arms and pushing him into her. She bucked a little against his mouth, and he felt a small gush of fluid burst over him. He licked it up and kept brushing his tongue against her clit, remembering how it felt to ride through an orgasm. She rubbed the back of his head almost affectionately as her hips continued to quiver against him with aftershocks.

“Mm...that was very good. I'll take care of you now.”

She got off of him and reached under the blindfold, taking the egg out. Some saliva trailed after it. The vibrations, combined with the feeling of her getting off against him, had made him extra sensitive. She swirled a finger into his eye, and his magic told him it was being prepared for sex.

“Ah...ah...”

“Patience, little whore.”

At least she didn't say it like an insult.

There was a wet lapping, sucking noise. The blindfold was lifted again, and Sans saw a split second of a dripping wet dildo before it was inserted into his eye.

“Guh...gn...hh...”

It was moved in and out gently, teasingly. Fingers were back on his clit, practically lifting his hips up with the energy of their stroking.

“Tell me when you are close.”

That wasn't going to be a long wait. The dildo was pressing against the back of his socket, rubbing in circles around the inside, spreading wetness and making him feel filled. She thrust it in him a few times, and he tried to buck his hips like he was being fucked. The restraints over his legs held him back.

“I'm...close, ma'am...”

The dildo was taken out of his eye and the fingers stopped working at him. He lay helplessly aroused, shivering with each light touch of her fingers on his bones. The blindfold was still lifted off his left eye, and he saw her face hovering over him again.

“They are going to come in your eye. Ask them to.”

A few erect dicks came into view, being stroked rapidly over him. Sans gulped.

“P...please come inside me...sirs...”

The spindly monster pet his cheek, then moved out of sight. A moment later, Sans felt her mouth on his pussy, pressing her tongue flat against his clit. It was almost enough.

One of the dicks shot cum over him. Part of it dripped over his mouth, but some drizzled into his eye socket. The hot fluids tingled inside him. His hips shook.

The tongue on his pussy swirled around his clit, then flicked it. Sans let out a quiet, shaky moan. A finger touched his mouth near where cum had spilled over it, and a deep voice spoke.

“Lick this up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sans obediently swiped his tongue over his mouth, cleaning the cum off. The finger stayed touching him, so he licked it, too. Another monster groaned and spilled cum over his eye, this time getting most of it inside.

It was hot and sticky inside him, and the monster licking him gave a hard suck that pushed him all the way, so that when the last monster was shooting cum into him and rubbing the head of its cock on the side of his face, Sans was haltingly moaning through his own climax.

When the other monsters had finished off, Sans was picked up and held on his stomach, and the cum was allowed to seep out of his eye. Sans still felt sensitive, his breath hitching a little as larger globs dripped out. A wet washcloth was used to delicately clean him up, then the blindfold was placed back on all the way and he was put on his back again.

Another monster was approaching.

“Scratch! Finally.”

“What did I miss?”

The scarecrow's voice. They'd been talking about the scarecrow. He was the one who was going to—

Sans froze up tight, his limp satisfaction immediately forgotten.

“Hey, little guy. Let's just get you fitted with one of these...”

Sans felt a gag being tied over his mouth. He was forced to bite onto rubber.

“I thought there were no gags tonight...?”

“Don't worry about it.”

“I don't want to get in trouble.”

The scarecrow's voice went deeper.

“I said don't worry about it. If you have a problem, you can go on.”

There was an awkward silence. Sans felt the scarecrow's weight draping over him, practically swallowing him up. The folds of its cape sliding over Sans' body felt like they were cutting him off from the rest of the room, from help. Closing him in with...

The scarecrow whispered into Sans' cheek.

“Now if I remember, you need to be taught a lesson, don't you...?”

Sans made muffled whimpers into the gag.

This wasn't fair. He shouldn't still be afraid of him. Out of all his clients so far, thinking back to this first one, he had really been one of the least horrific. Nothing he did even hurt.

But this monster had a way of taking Sans back in time, of making him feel new and vulnerable and small.

The scarecrow nuzzled against Sans' face.

“Gmhm! Hn...hn...”

“I liked when you begged, but those little noises are nice too...”

Fingers stretched the opening of Sans' pussy. The monster sounded smug.

“I told you all you needed was a few more good screws and you'd start loving it. Look how wet you are just from a little attention.”

Sans heard an unzipping, then the scarecrow's hard member bounced against Sans' groin. It didn't make any preparations before slamming in.

“Hnn! Nn!”

The monster let out a breathy moan.

“Ohh...you're still tight...”

He thrust in once. Sans jerked under him like he'd been stabbed.

“Why's that? You not working very hard? Whoring hasn't ruined your cute little pussy yet?”

Sans was probably tight because he was frightened and tense, but same difference.

The monster's breath tickled Sans' face. It had rolled its mask up. Sans felt the scarecrow's long tongue lick and nibble at his neck. Sans made a heaving sound into the gag, breathing hard. The monster's uncovered mouth made garbled speech.

“It'ssss okay if you ssscream.”

The teeth on its tongue bit into Sans' clavicle.

“Hey! Sir! I said no gags!”

The scarecrow's face presumably turned toward Loox, because Sans heard glass shattering and Loox shout in surprise.

“Hoooooly wow, uh, sir, I didn't realize we were entertaining the ungodly spawn of hell tonight. I mean...no offense, sir.”

“Good friends call me Old Scratch.”

“I'm...not your friend, sir. No offense on that either. I have to insist on the gag thing, or I'm getting a guard.”

Sans felt weight shift over him.

“There's no need for hostility. See? I'm removing it, like a good patron. You run along.”

The gag was taken off. Sans reacted without thinking, calling out a cry that broke on heaving sobs.

“Loo-o-oox...”

Footsteps rushed toward him. Sans felt the member pull out of him, the weight lifting off him.

“What do you think you're doing? You're interrupting my time.”

“Shoo. I don't care, shoo! Go—go—stick a dick in your cock!”

“Excuse me?”

The blindfold was taken off. It felt wet. Loox was hovering over him.

“Sans, what's wrong? What happened?”

“I'm scared...I'm s-scared...”

“It's okay, Butt Scratch is getting out of here. Cavalry arrived.”

Over Loox's shoulder, Sans saw a large guard escorting the scarecrow out, the scarecrow giving a dirty look back at them.

Sans hiccoughed. Loox picked him up.

“Shh, we're going. You're done tonight.”

Sans jerked in the hold.

“But—no, if—if Muffet—I can't just g-go, I'll get in...I'll get in trouble...”

“Don't worry. Muffet's not even watching tonight. She's off in E Section. That's why B Section's a bit of a circus right now...ha, you think I'd talk like that to customers with _her_ around? Nobody here's gonna snitch on you, I promise, so don't worry about it.”

Sans didn't reply, but he felt the fight go out of him. And with it, the last of the energy he had.

Loox took Sans into a quiet room, undid all his restraints, and gave him a deep massage. Sans fell asleep halfway through, and he barely noticed that he'd willingly slipped unconscious while his naked body was touched by a monster he hardly knew.

 

 

Sans was on his way to a secluded part of the complex to nap when he felt a chill, like someone walked over his grave. There was the tap of shoes behind him.

“Hm. Well. Hello, my dear.”

Sans spun around.

“...Clarence...?”

Sans stood in place awkwardly. Nothing came to mind to say that seemed appropriate. Not that anything was appropriate between them. Clarence didn't look any less awkward than Sans. Uncharacteristically, he looked at the ground instead of making eye contact as he spoke.

“I didn't come earlier, because...”

He leaned against the wall and slapped a hand over his eyes.

“Oh, Sans, I was embarrassed! I don't know that I've ever failed so spectacularly.”

He rubbed the hand down his face.

“Back with your trouble with the dogs—I wanted to gather some information first, so I 'borrowed' Doggo—he won't blame you for it, don't worry, doesn't remember it at all—and he helpfully revealed that the whole thing was a fake. Muffet was already planning on letting all the dogs at you, the blackmail was a bluff, they weren't actually doing anything I could get them in trouble for. Except!”

He started pacing.

“I discovered their plans with the amalgamate, and couldn't imagine Alphys knew what was happening there, so I took a risk and went to see her. Her denial took a bit of circumventing first. Then when she _did_ accept what she'd been letting happen behind her back, I had to babysit her through a little meltdown, and let me tell you I am _not_ the monster you want for that job. Eventually, I got her up and going to Red City, told her where to go, and presumably she got here in time to stop approximately nothing.”

He stopped pacing, standing still with his hands folded behind his back and his eyes still on the ground.

“So that's the long and the short of the story of how I let you down.”

Sans was silent. Clarence scraped his hands over his own face again.

“Oh lord, this friendship business feels awful. Is it always like this? Are you going to keep looking at me like that, or go on and tell me to get out of your sight?”

“You did all that? What, for me?”

“I told you I would. I don't lie about these things. What on earth is that face for? Is that a shade of anger I just haven't seen before?”

“You told Alphys. You could have gotten in trouble with the king.”

Clarence looked to the side and laughed nervously.

“I won't tell him if you don't. I'm very attached to the way my head sits on my neck, connected to my shoulders as it should—what in _hell_ are you—“

Sans had thrown his arms around the bunny.

“...oh. Oh, well...if you insist.”

He pat a hand awkwardly on Sans' back.

“And what do you think you're doing here?”

Clarence stepped away from Sans, holding his hands up like he was being arrested. Muffet had entered the room. Sans looked from Muffet to Clarence and back.

“You...you said I could have visitors.”

“I did, honey, but within reason. Honestly, what is wrong with you?”

Muffet moved to grab Clarence by the arm. He jerked his arm out of reach and started to walk out, Muffet escorting him. Sans stamped his foot. He wanted to sound self-assured, but his frustration triggered his stutter.

“D-d-don't treat me like a g-goddamn kid, Muffet! Can't I even choose who I g-get to see?”

Muffet tilted her head at Sans over her shoulder. She almost looked like she felt sorry for him.

“You have terrible taste, dearie.”

She had him there.

 

 

Sans stomped down the hall until he was stopped by an unusual sight. The door to a private room was ajar, and a few monsters were standing around outside it,looking distressed. A bird-like worker had a blanket over her shoulders, and Loox was there, giant eye bloodshot and teary. A bulky guard was escorting a disgruntled client down the hall. Sans saw the unmistakable powder of monster dust on the client's claws.

Sans approached Loox.

“What's—”

“Sans! Don't—don't look in there. I mean, it's not much, but it's...it's Cecil...”

The hall froze. The air froze. The world froze.

“...what...”

“They told a guard to stop a session, and the jerkwad wouldn't do it, so they...they went in themselves...”

Loox rubbed his eye.

“Stupid kid. Just said hi to them this morning...”

Sans' mind went blank.

“But they're coming back soon, right?”

“Huh?”

“From their day off.”

“Uh...yeah. Yeah...”

 

 

Sans swept the dust into a pan, transferring it little by little into a slightly more dignified holding jar. He'd chased Woshua away from mopping it up and doing who knew what with it. Sans wished he knew what the mouse's favorite thing was so he could sprinkle the dust over it.

There was a knock on the inside of the door. Sans looked up to see the human waiting in the doorway. Sans wiped his eyes with a sleeve and motioned them in.

They looked down with concern at the jar full of dust.

“That's...”

“What it looks like, yeah.”

“How? When?”

“Ha, you didn't even ask 'who.'”

The human grabbed Sans' shoulders with sudden intensity.

“But a friend of yours, right? That's why you're gathering them up like that.”

“Uh. Yeah.”

Sans wiped at his eyes again.

“Sans.”

Sans looked into their eyes. Still burning bright, even though the bags under them were getting heavier. The kid needed sleep.

“Please tell me how it happened.”

“It uh...they were on monitor duty...told a guard to stop a rough client, but he wouldn't do it. Fucking musketeer tried to play hero themselves...”

Frisk grasped Sans' shoulders tighter.

“Don't worry about anything.”

They pulled him into a hug.

“I'm going to fix it.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<

 

Sans stomped down the hall until he was stopped by an unusual sight. The door to a private room was ajar, and a few monsters were standing around outside it, looking disheveled. A lanky guard was escorting a client away, and a shaken worker was holding Cecil in a vice-like hug.

“Thank you so much, I couldn't—I just couldn't this time. Thank you.”

She saw Sans looking at them. She gave Cecil one last almost possessive squeeze before walking away. Sans watched her go briefly before turning back to Cecil.

“Back at it again, huh?”

Cecil looked thoughtful. They were still watching the feathered worker round the corner at the end of the hall.

“It's funny...the guard Muffet partnered me with on monitor duty is a real ass, and for some reason I felt extra worried about that today...for good reason, turns out—it would have been a disaster if I'd had him today. But apparently his schedule got traded last minute with another guard who actually listens to me.”

Cecil gave Sans a sheepish grin.

“You gonna yell at me for sticking my nose in?”

“Nah, cockblocking clients should be a competitive sport. How many other monitors do you think you could get in on this?”

“Ha—zero, probably.”

Sans heard small feet running up to them, and turned to see the human making their way to them. Strange, this was pretty early for their appointment. They treated him to a big smile.

“Hey, Sans! Mind if we visit all together? I wanna get to know your friend.”

 

 

The three of them searched the rec room for a three player game. Cecil swore there was a deck of cards somewhere, but other than half a deck of Yugioh cards and a couple of holographic Magic cards, they were unable to dig up the classic 52. At the bottom of the game junk pile sat a novelty mounted bass that Cecil insisted wouldn't work anymore, but a press of the button brought it to terrifying unholy life, singing a low, lilting rendition of 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' and causing Frisk to scream bloody murder and vacate the room. After that, the trio abandoned their efforts and sat in the cafeteria.

Sans rubbed Frisk's back reassuringly. They muttered apologies, ignoring the pile of donuts placed in front of them.

“Sorry...I'm sorry...I don't like animatronics...they're...they're weird...”

Sans snorted, then covered his mouth with a hand.

“Of all the things in here, _that's_ what you find scary.”

Cecil looked across the room.

“Yeah, speaking of, keep your head down.”

Muffet was passing by the door. Sans held his breath, but she walked by the cafeteria without entering. Sans didn't think they were doing anything punishable, per se, but he wasn't sure if visitors were allowed in this part of the complex.

Frisk shuffled their feet.

“I actually...kinda like Muffet. She's nice to me.”

Cecil huffed.

“Yeah...'nice'...being nice doesn't cost anything. Having a heart, on the other hand...”

Frisk looked innocent.

“It costs something?”

Sans and Cecil exchanged a glance.

“I guess you can't buy empathy...”

“If you can, Muffet wouldn't spend a penny on it.”

Frisk picked up a donut, but started breaking it apart instead of eating it.

“What's empathy mean?”

Sans shrugged and looked at Cecil as if to say: 'you take this one.' Cecil watched Frisk, but the child was looking down at the donut, picking off the sprinkles one by one.

“It's uh. The ability to like...understand how other people feel. Muffet knows that other monsters have feelings, have inner life, but she doesn't really get it, you know what I mean? And you can't teach someone that. It's just in your soul, or it's not.”

Frisk stopped picking the sprinkles but didn't look up.

“I don't...know if that's true.” They suddenly looked back and forth between Sans and Cecil, earnest and intense. “Flowey learned it, and he's a flower. He doesn't have a soul!”

“Flowey...?”

“There's this flower...”

“...and its name is—?”

“Its name is mud, far as I'm concerned. Dingy weed.”

Frisk bat Sans lightly on the arm.

“Flowey's my friend!”

Sans sighed.

“The weed, Muffet...heck, me...you have bad taste, kiddo.”

Frisk went back to picking off sprinkles, Cecil separating them by color without comment. Frisk spoke.

“I just...think everyone deserves a chance. Everyone has good inside.”

“Sweetheart, you really believe that everyone is good?”

“Everyone _can_ be good. There's a difference. I...I know people can be bad, too. But I don't think that means it's too late for them to choose to be good.”

Cecil muttered, focusing on the growing piles of color on the table.

“I don't think everyone can be good. Some monsters will be garbage forever.”

“I don't believe that...”

Sans grabbed the de-sprinkled donut and shoved it in his mouth.

“You're telling me you think even the worst person can change?”

“I know they can.”

“Whoa-ho, you sound pretty sure, kid.”

Frisk was silent. Cecil had finished arranging the sprinkles into a color palette, and had started on a slow work of art on the cafeteria table. Sans and Frisk watched the mouse work for a while until a picture started coming into being, of a child with red eyes. Frisk's face brightened in amazement.

“That's so good!”

“Heh, thanks.”

Sans licked the palm of his hand and stuck it on the sprinkle artwork, sticking and removing an entire handprint-shaped gap of sprinkles and licking them off himself. Cecil slammed a fist on the table.

“Oh my god Sans _you are the worst!_ ”

Sans winked.

“And I'll never change.”

 

 

 

It was almost like Papyrus knew exactly when to call when Sans _couldn't_ pick up now. Looked like he really wanted to finish telling that mystery serial.  Alone in his room, Sans played the new message on his phone.

 

 

**

I miss you. There, I said it, and you...don't have to fucking delete the message. They—I just thought you might want to know that.

I won't dance around it. The last time we saw each other was awful. And if being separated is the norm now, I at least want phone conversations to be more...more honest. You're my only brother.

_A long pause._

This was stupid.

**

 

 

The message cut off to the sound of Papyrus hanging up. Sans stayed with the phone to his ear for a long moment. He hardly dared to breathe, as though fluctuating in the least bit would erase this, make it not have happened.

Then he pressed play again.

 

 

**

I miss you. There, I said it, and you...don't have to fucking delete the message.

**

 

 

Sans turned the message off, then replayed it.

 

 

**

I miss you. There, I said it, and

*

I miss you.

*

I miss you.

*

I miss you.

**

 

 

Sans would take it. That was probably as close as he was ever going to get.

 

 

 

Sans' walk to the visitor hall gave him just enough time to brew a few questions for Frisk. He couldn't help but feel that the 'they' Papyrus mentioned in his phone call was the human child. That would make Papyrus' plea for honesty more than a tad hypocritical, but then, Sans supposed you never knew who was listening. Frisk had never mentioned talking to Papyrus either, though. That was concerning. What reason would they have to hide it from Sans?

But what Sans saw in the hall drove all questions out of his mind and brought his soul to a stuttering stop.

Frisk was energetically in conversation with a monster who wore a cape with devil horns.

The monster pet the child's hair with a soft touch, then stroked a finger under their chin. Frisk's smile didn't waver in the slightest.

Before he knew it, Sans was between the two, eye glowing and hands tensed as though he were ready to claw the monster's eyes out. Hell, if it came to it. The scarecrow chuckled and reached a hand towards Sans.

“Oh hello, sweet thing. Don't be jealous, now—”

Sans snapped his teeth at the hand, and the scarecrow withdrew it. Its odd fabric smile faltered. Sans growled.

“Don't go near them or I will f u c k i n g  k i l l  y o u”

“There's no need to be like that. I was only being friendly.” The scarecrow leaned to the side to look past Sans to Frisk. “Isn't that right, sweetie?”

“don't talk to them _don't touch them_ I'LL KILL YOU”

The scarecrow took a wide step back, looking put off. It made a dissatisfied huff, as though mildly offended, and started to go. It looked back.

“It's not like you can do anything to me. I'll have you again.” It leaned on its heels. “And I've seen them around before without you...”

“FUCKING BASTARD—”

Sans lurched as Frisk caught him from behind and held him in place. When the scarecrow left, Frisk let go, and Sans started back the way he came. Frisk started after him.

“Aren't we going to—”

“It's been great, but visit's over, kid. All of them. You're not coming here again.”

Sans heard Frisk stop walking. Their voice was like stone.

“You can't make me go.”

“The hell I can't—”

Sans turned to face them. One look in their eyes told him all he needed to know in a second. They burned brighter than even Sans could with all of his magic at his disposal.

Fucking humans and their impossible amounts of determination.

 

 

“Muffet, I don't want Frisk to visit me anymore. Please stop letting them come in.”

Muffet looked amused by the request.

“You don't like them anymore?”

“Nah.”

“What could they possibly have done? I've never met a sweeter monster.”

Sans didn't respond. He'd hoped the request would be simpler than this, but of course she had to get curious right when it mattered most for her not to be. She paused from brushing her hair and toyed with the thistles of the brush, a playful smile on her lips.

“Oh my, don't tell me they propositioned you? You don't want to refuse them sex, so you're using me to enforce a soft no?”

She suddenly looked excited.

“Maybe they'll be a regular client after all—”

Sans couldn't restrain his disgust.

“I wouldn't fuck a kid—!”

Sans only realized his mistake as it was already out of his mouth. The look on Muffet's face made his soul stop.

“...a child?”

No. No no no. How could he have said that to _Muffet_.

“I can't believe I didn't notice...but their age is rather difficult to discern, and the way they speak is so mature...but they're all alone, aren't they?”

“Th-they've got a family.”

Sans' defense was too quick and too obvious. Muffet continued to herself as though he hadn't spoken.

“Hm, they are very cute...they'll probably be quite attractive when they're older.”

Sans shook. It had only taken a split second, and he'd fucked everything up. He'd fucked everything up so very, very badly.

He went closer to Muffet and got on his knees.

“Please, Muffet, please leave them alone. I'll do anything...I'll do anything you want.”

Muffet rolled her eyes.

“So you'll do your job, and in exchange ask me not to do mine?”

Sans grabbed Muffet's skirts.

“Muffet, for...for pity's sake, they're just a kid.”

“Yes, dear, that's rather the point, isn't it? You know how this place works.”

Sans let go of her and put his hands to the sides of his head like he was trying to drown out the world. He closed his eyes, breathing fast.

“Dear, relax. It's not so bad. No one would touch them for a long time. And how much longer do you honestly think they would last on the street without protection? They'll be thanking me in no time. They're already fond of me, I can tell.”

She pet Sans' head as she got up from her seat to go.

“I don't suppose you'd be willing to get them here for me, but I do already have their number anyway. I'll get them right over...”

Sans couldn't stand up. He rocked himself where he sat as he heard the rustle of skirts exiting the room.

“This is hell...this is hell...”

 

 

The next time Sans saw the human, it was blessedly out of Muffet's sight, and close enough to the entrance of the front building to get his heart racing for them. There was still time. They'd caught him by surprise, startling him with an unscheduled visit and a hand on his shoulder from behind that nearly had him jumping out of his own bones.

“Sans, I'm a little scared—Muffet was acting really weird with me. I got away from her, but—”

Sans clasped their hand in both of his and immediately started tugging them to the door.

“Kid. Sweetheart. You've gotta leave. You've gotta go and not come back here.”

“What happened? What's going on?”

They resisted Sans' pull. Sans yanked them fit to pop their arm out of its socket.

“I messed up, I fucked up bad, I—I told her you were a kid, she figured out you were by yourself—fuck! Come on, get out, long goodbyes are for saps that get caught.”

“Sans, don't worry, I can fix it, just—what made you tell her that?”

Sans let go and stamped in exasperation.

“You can't fix it, don't play the guilt game, please kid, just go!”

They grabbed Sans' shoulders and shook hard.

“Sans!”

Sans' shock at the rough handling made him switch gears almost immediately. His answer was soft and breathy, submissive.

“...yes?”

Frisk's eyes were pained, but they shook their head.

“Tell me why you told Muffet.”

“I...I saw you with that horned guy...I g-got scared for you...wanted to have Muffet make you stop coming, I just...d-didn't think about what I was saying...”

Frisk held Sans gently, running soothing hands on his shoulder blades like a physical apology.

“Don't worry, Sans. Don't worry. I'm on it.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Sans walked to the visitor's hall, his mind buzzing with questions. Frisk had never mentioned talking to Papyrus. That was concerning. What reason would they have to hide it from Sans?

But what Sans saw in the hall drove all questions out of his mind and brought his soul to a stuttering stop.

The scarecrow was talking to Frisk.

Sans was halfway to them when the glint of a weapon made him instinctively halt.

Frisk had drawn their knife.

Their voice was so low that he didn't know how he could have heard their words so clearly, except that it felt like the vibrations of their speech were carried on the air by a killing aura.

“Leave me alone.”

Sans had never seen the scarecrow intimidated before. Granted, the circumstances of their meetings had hardly allowed for it, but the monster was so utterly silent as it backed away. It visibly shrunk and glided out of the room, without so much as a last minute taunt.

The rest of Sans' approach to the human was on shaky legs. Adrenaline had drained out of him too quickly. When Frisk faced him, their knife had disappeared as though it was never there, their face was bright as though they'd never spoken a harsh word in their life. Sans' left eye was still glowing from the excitement.

“Sans! Don't tell me you were worried about me? I know a creep when I see one.”

Sans let his eye flicker down to normal.

“Well, I...you just always seemed too trusting, kid.” He eyed their pocket, presumably where their knife had disappeared. “I've never seen you wave that thing around before...”

“What, you think it's only for peeling apples? I know what the Underground's like. I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Yeah, I...I can see that.”

Sans' body moved before his mind did, and suddenly he was enveloping the child in his arms. He felt as surprised at himself as the child's startled jump indicated they did.

“What's...what brought this on?”

“I d-dunno...I had a bad feeling, I guess.” He buried his face in their neck. “A really bad feeling...”

“Because of that guy?”

“Not exactly. I...I felt like I was never going to see you again? That probably sounds stupid. You only just got here...”

Frisk didn't break contact, but pulled away enough for Sans to see their face. It was heartbreakingly hopeful, as though their hopes had been dashed before.

“...you're glad I came? You want me to visit you?”

“Oh sweetheart, I don't know what I'd do without you.”

He gripped them tighter.

“I need you.”

That was probably as close as he was ever going to get.

The human's eyes flashed a brilliant red, and for a second Sans thought he saw their soul glow. He felt their hands clutching tight into the back of his coat jacket.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Oh sweetheart, I don't know what I'd do without you. I need you.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“what I'd do without you. I need you.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“I need you.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“I need you.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“I need you.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Oh sweetheart, I don't know what I'd do without you. I...”

Sans tripped, although he hadn't taken a step. He did a small do-si-do, the human's arm reaching out for him the only anchor that kept him from falling on his ass.

“I...I'm dizzy...”

The human put their hand to their forehead.

“Uh...me too.”

Sans put his hand next to theirs on their head, feeling their temperature with the back of his hand.

“You feeling okay, kid? You're looking a little...sallow.”

It was more than that. Some of the light seemed to dim from their eyes. The shadows underneath them had grown darker.

 

 

Sans supposed that just because Muffet hadn't said anything to him all day, thinking he had the night off had been wishful thinking. When he entered his room for bed, Muffet was waiting for him with a tray of tea on her lap that she clearly wasn't planning on drinking herself.

Sans sat on the bed next to her without a word. She gave him the cup of tea. Sans shook as he held it.

“Muffet, can I...ask you something...before I drink this?”

“Yes dear?”

Sans looked up at Muffet. Her smile didn't reach her eyes. He fumbled with the cup and quickly brought it up to his mouth.

“N-nevermind, I'll—! I'll just drink it—”

Muffet put her hand over the top of the cup and lowered it from Sans' mouth.

“What is it, dear.”

Sans swallowed, but his throat stayed dry.

“I'm...I want to...do well, but...it's really hard for me. B-because I get...scared, and then...I d-don't know what I should do.”

Muffet put the tray aside and pat her lap. Sans scrambled into it and sat himself on one of her thighs. He made a pussy and waited, shuddering.

One of Muffet's hands brushed up Sans' thigh.

“What is it that Onion does that calms you?”

“He...he doesn't touch...”

Muffet huffed and drew her hand away from Sans' pussy.

“B-but you—! I'll, I'll do as you say!”

Muffet looked doubtful. Sans grabbed the hand on his leg, and Muffet allowed him to guide it back between his legs.

“If y-you're gonna touch me, p-please just...just touch me, don't be mad at me instead I...I can't s-stand it anymore, please...”

Sans ground against her hand. The many arms that folded around his back and tugged him in closer told him he was doing all right.

“Hold on, dear.”

Muffet took her hand away and put on gloves, covering them in lube. She reached a slippery hand into his pants and he shifted to allow her in.

When her fingers entered him, Sans' breath came shallow, but he moved on top of them. Muffet pushed his head over her shoulder, speaking softly in his ear.

“I think you _do_ know what you should do, dear.”

Sans swallowed down noises, barely letting out quiet gasps as her fingers moved faster on him.

“You just need to learn to let go. You'll get that in time. So try not to worry about it.”

She made him come quickly, the only indication he gave a long sigh that hitched a few times with more forceful presses at his clit. She took her hand out of his pants and let him cling to her for a moment, breathing evenly into her chest. He shuddered a few more times from the come down.

Muffet offered the cup of tea again and Sans took it, his hands just a bit steadier than before. Muffet looked into the tea like she was seeing how his night would go in its swirling dark surface.

“This will probably be a little frightening for you.”

Sans shivered.

“I want you to remember that you'll be okay, you'll make it through, and I'll be right here when you're done. All right?”

“okay”

At this point Sans couldn't think of anyone he'd like to see less right after a session, but she did at least appear to be making an effort.

Sans drank the tea in long gulps. He passed out before his head hit his pillow.

 

 

When Sans woke up, it was to a room full of strange machines and equipment. He'd been stripped of his clothes and put in a hospital gown, and he was strapped down to a high examination table. His wrists were strapped to the table above his head, his arms bent up in L shapes. His legs were held over the edge of the table, spread and lifted up by metal stirrups. His pelvis was blocked from his own view by the gown, but it was fully exposed to anyone who might stand at the end of the table. Not that they'd see anything but bones.

Except for, or maybe including, the targeted exposure of his body, the setting didn't read as sexual at all, and that somehow made the restraints even more concerning.

Muffet was right. Sans definitely found this frightening.

There was a tall monster standing in a corner, busily writing down notes and checking a small device that looked like a thermometer. Sans couldn't tell if the monster was a slime or a ghost—the parts of its body that could be seen between pieces of clothing were somewhere between sticky and tar-like, and smokily insubstantial.

After Sans had been staring at it for a minute, the monster raised its head and met his eyes, apparently registering that he was awake. Its face was the nondescript kind of face you couldn't help but forget as soon as you looked away, and its expression was bland.

It approached Sans and stood between the stirrups, reaching out to stroke Sans' right shin with a gloved hand.

“You may call me 'doctor.' I'm going to give you an exam, I will choose the best way to inseminate you, and then we will engage in intercourse. Do you understand?”

Sans wasn't entirely sure he did understand, but there was still only ever one answer.

“Yes, doctor.”

The monster quirked its mouth in what could either be a smile or a smirk.

“Make a vagina.”

Sans made a cock. The monster tilted its head, eyes narrowing.

“...are you trying to be funny with me?”

Sans jolted.

“N...no doctor! I uh...didn't know which...one you meant...I t-took a guess, it was stupid...”

The monster raised an eyebrow.

“You can make more than one kind of sexual organ?”

“Uh...yeah.” Sans quickly dispelled the cock and formed a cunt instead. “Did you mean this one?”

“Yes.” The monster touched a finger to the lips of the cunt. “What do you call this?”

“A...p-pussy...?”

Sans attempted to read into the monster's blank face.

“...a cunt?”

“Ugh. You really are a prostitute. Gaster would be mortified.”

Sans startled.

“You...”

“You don't recognize me, do you? I suppose you were very young. I knew Dr. Gaster well—I was over a number of times. No memory...?”

Sans paused and shook his head.

“Hm. Well, anyway, it's a shame, what he did.”

“What he did?”

“Oh, I only mean how he died.”

Sans went stiff. His tone was unintentionally argumentative.

“The lab accident, yeah.”

The other monster was silent. It moved around to the side of the table, tracing a finger over Sans' ribs and along his right arm. Sans shivered.

Most of the monsters who knew Gaster personally had died in the lab, same as him. Sans had an idea that if he ever did meet an old surviving acquaintance of his father, they would be like another mentor. At least would have come around to reintroduce themselves to the skeleton brothers at some point. Never in his life would he have imagined he'd meet someone close to Gaster in a place like this, much less be expected to have sex with them.

The monster had come full circle around the table. It slipped a hand up Sans' thigh and fondled the underside of his knee.

“You always were quite small...you didn't grow much. How did your brother do? Is he tall?”

“Yeah, he...got pretty tall.”

“Second time's a charm, I suppose.”

Sans might have thought that was rude if it weren't true.

He couldn't see what the monster was doing, but he heard a squelch like it was lubing up its hands over the gloves. The hunch was proven true when Sans felt slick fingers probing the opening of his cunt. A finger entered him and whirled around, then thrust in. Sans' hips raised up in response, and he let out a shaky breath. The monster's eyes snapped up from the focused attention between Sans' legs to a piercing stare right into Sans' eyes.

“Was that a reaction of physical excitement?”

“...yes?”

The monster rubbed the finger on the bottom wall as though it were lightly scratching an itch.

“Is that sensitive? Are you becoming aroused from that?”

“I...y-yeah, a little...”

The monster removed its finger. It tapped the outside folds again.

“I thought so. The whorehouse told you how to make this for customers?”

“Onion...designed it, yeah.”

“I want you to make a more natural one.”

Sans nodded, then back-tracked over what the monster had said.

“I'm...not sure I know what you mean...doctor?”

The monster gave him an incredulous look.

“...this is the only one you know?”

Sans didn't know why, but he shrunk a little at that.

“It's...yeah...”

A finger reached over and inside Sans' pelvis and touched the outside of the magic structure. Sans flinched hard at the contact—no one had touched it there before. The monster didn't appear to notice his alarm.

“This one is made only for pleasure.”

The finger brushed over the surface of the magic to where it ended a little ways up the tailbone.

“It doesn't even have a uterus attached.”

It withdrew its hand, and Sans sighed in relief. He was so distracted by the reprieve that he yelped in shock when a slimy finger entered him again.

“When a vagina is used as a birth canal, too much sensitivity would make for a very difficult birthing process...normally, the inside of a vagina is relatively insensate.”

The finger jut in a few more times, then pulled out to massage the outer folds.

“The more sensitive parts are all external.”

The monster pressed on Sans' clit with its thumb, then hooked a finger shallowly inside the cunt.

“For a humanoid vagina, most of the vaginal stimulation from the inside comes from pressure put on the internal parts of the clitoris.”

The finger inside jabbed upwards in demonstration, then nuzzled the same spot with a fingertip. Sans bucked and held in a noise of pleasure. He felt especially reluctant to react in front of this monster.

The monster removed its hand altogether, leaving Sans in a state of frustrated arousal.

“Of course, I could explain better if you knew how to make it correctly. Let me show you...”

The monster took out its thermometer-like instrument and pushed Sans' hospital gown up to his underarms. It waved a hand over Sans' chest and pulled his soul forward.

Sans made a low whimper.

The other monster wasn't indicating that it regarded any difference between handling Sans' bones and tugging at his soul. It didn't acknowledge Sans' obvious fear at revealing the soul, either. Made no move to comfort him or even to mock him in sadistic delight. It just didn't notice.

It inserted the thermometer into his soul. It didn't feel painful, but the careless intent made the insertion feel cold and dead. Sans made a choking noise.

The monster removed the glove from its right hand, then touched the exposed end of the thermometer. Sans saw tar-like magic sloughing off the monster's hand and funneling into the device. Its journey could be followed through thin, clear tubes on the front as they clouded up with black. Then Sans felt a chill deep inside, proceeded by something close to the feeling he got when Onion penetrated his soul for the purpose of shaping his magic.

“This may seem like a convoluted method. I'm actually allergic to the magic of other monsters...I grew up very sickly, unable to receive healing magic without doubling my problems. Your father developed this device to help me receive healing injections to my soul. It inures me to another monster's secondary magical characteristics. Of course, it can be used on other monsters as well...I'm not sure Dr. Gaster considered that.”

The monster removed the glove from its left hand with its teeth, then tentatively reached down to touch Sans between the legs again. Sans felt its bare skin, or whatever its surface was, touch the lips of his cunt. The monster gave a satisfied sigh and continued to fondle Sans.

“There, that's better...now to do something about this...”

Sans felt the shape of his cunt change as it was directed into a new configuration by the foreign magic in his soul. Without the gown blocking his view anymore, Sans could see a new organ forming above the pussy—an elongated sack with two tubes curling out from it. The sack floated eerily inside his pelvis.

The monster was leaning over and moving its forearm as though it were plugging its fingers into Sans, but Sans didn't feel much above a small, insistent pressure.

“How's that?”

“It's...not very sensitive.”

As the fingers were taken out, Sans felt an odd disappointment. Despite himself, he'd grown a little attached to the way his pussy was. He hadn't gotten it in the best of circumstances, but at least it was his. It had become familiar. This new one felt alien and unsettling.

The doctor appeared to be very pleased, though. It reached to the thermometer in Sans' soul again.

“Why stop there? Let's make a few more things, shall we? I'm told you have an impressive talent with complex magical organics.”

Sans had the nasty feeling he was about to wish he didn't.

The magic invading his soul instructed him to create a branching system of tubes that traveled like spiderwebs over and under his bones. They all connected back to a pulsating lopsided organ that floated above his soul. Sans' vision went blurry with the first wild pulses of the organ, and then sensation spread through the branching tubes as a simulated magic liquid flushed through them.

“This one is a circulatory system.”

Sans was barely given a break from the demanding task before he was forced to shape more magic—a tube starting below his jaw, running down his throat, and expanding into larger sacks above his pelvis. The tubing ended at the bottom of his pelvis, with two expanded bags cushioning above and below his altered pussy.

“And a digestive tract.”

Sans was sweating from effort. The monster excitedly pulled a rolling tray over by the examination table, oblivious of Sans' condition.

“All of it being red is a little visually confusing, though...so let's do some color-coding.”

The monster opened a box on the tray, revealing an array of needles with various colorful liquids inside. It chose a blue one and pushed a drop of the liquid up through the needle, flicking the glass to get out air bubbles.

Sans squirmed nervously. The doctor finally seemed to notice Sans' state.

“It's only a magic dye. It's harmless.”

It directed the tip of the needle to the tubing on Sans' throat. Sans made a fearful gurgle, not sure how the new magic structures would react to pain.

“We'll leave the bloodstream red...and do cyan for the digestive tract.”

The needle injected the dye into the tube. Sans felt a pinch. He was afraid to move or breath. He held his breath until the needle was removed. It was left in for a long, slow moment as the color spread from his neck to his groin, so that when the needle was finally removed, Sans was gasping and convulsing.

“...you don't need to be so melodramatic.”

It chose another needle.

“Fuchsia for the reproductive system, I think...”

Sans tensed. The needle was being aimed between his legs. Sans made to close his legs, but the stirrups had them locked in place. He made a noise of desperation that agitated the sore spot on his throat.

“Now now, it will only take a moment.”

Sans hissed as the needle stabbed into the vaginal wall in a downward angle. Now he was thankful it wasn't as sensitive as before, but he still felt a disturbing pressure, and just the knowledge of where the needle was made him want to vomit. When the needle was taken out, Sans was trembling all over.

The colorful magic made a nice palette, though.

The doctor grazed a hand over the tubing coming out from the red pulsing organ on Sans' chest.

“Hm...I wonder how a connected system would react.”

It tweaked the magic in Sans' soul at the same time as it physically coaxed a red tube to connect to the blue one at Sans' throat. When they melted together, the red swirled with the blue magic, tinting it purple at his neck.

Sans gagged, spasming.

“Hold still. I want to see it make its way.”

But Sans wasn't able to control his back from arching, or the hard shudder as he felt something clogging inside him, tasted pennies even though nothing was in his mouth.

The monster massaged his neck gently.

“Make like you're swallowing.”

Sans tried to obey. He made a few gulping motions, and finally he felt the clog clear and fluid streaming into his system, thick and heavy. It wasn't a much better feeling than choking.

The purple in his throat changed back to red in his stomach, some of the liquid magic staying there, and more of the magic continued down his body and gradually changed back to blue as it nestled further down in one of the lower sacks.

“Intriguing.”

Sans didn't really think so. The red liquid was still streaming into his throat with each clench of the pulsing red organ, and each release of red fluid into the blue tubing made Sans feel weaker.

“How does that feel?”

“It...f-feels disg...usting...I'm g-gonna faint...”

“You're probably lightheaded. Hm, even though you don't need the blood, draining it has the same effect as though you do. Interesting.”

The monster finally separated the differently colored tubes and set them back as they were. Sans' chest heaved.

The monster was back to examining Sans' pussy, pushing at his clit and stroking fingers inside the opening.

The monster did say they were going to have intercourse...it was still planning to fuck him, right? Maybe Sans was going about this wrong. He'd managed to seduce Lesser Dog, sort of. He could try the same tactics to move this session past the weird and frightening foreplay into the sex.

He rolled his hips up as much as he could, panting a little.

“C-come on, stop teasing me, doctor. I want your thick cock inside me.”

One look at the monster told Sans he'd chosen the wrong route.

“I don't have a penis.”

Sans snapped his mouth shut.

“I can form a variety of them with my magic, however...which one would be best to use on you?”

The monster moved a hand over the crotch of its pants, then pulled the hand away to reveal a member with a barbed head.

“A cat penis is covered in hooks, with the same make-up as their claws. The penis' claws scrape away the semen of competing mates.”

It morphed the shape on its crotch. It lengthened a great deal, curling into a spiral at the tip.

“Pigs have a corkscrew member—it takes about thirty minutes to push it all the way to the cervix, where it locks in place, and only then can it ejaculate. The spiral shape prevents semen from escaping.”

It made the organ disappear.

“But I've been particularly fascinated by bed bugs lately. It's the picture of efficiency and simplicity.”

It made a new penis, this time a thick tube that tapered into a point so sharp it almost glinted.

“Their members are knife-like, and are used to pierce the abdomen of their mate and inject sperm through the blood stream. Of course, without the obstruction of skin and fat, you could use it to directly penetrate the womb.”

The monster was getting closer to Sans, practically getting up on the table with how heavily it leaned over it.

“The process is called 'traumatic insemination.'”

A finger delicately touched the magic organ that was linked to Sans' cunt.

“I made a womb for you, of course...”

Sans felt a loss of control, and then fluid was emptying from one of his other organs. He felt it leak out from between his legs and make a warm pool on the table under him.

“Oh my. Wetting yourself? How pitiful.”

The monster touched Sans' knee as though to move it for a better look—of course, with the stirrups, everything was already exposed. The monster's expression hadn't shifted to indicate anything more than clinical interest. Sans couldn't restrain the small whimpers of fear the contact drew from him, at his inability to stop the leak even though he was probably in trouble now. He heard dripping from the edge of the table to the floor.

“I hope you at least know enough to be ashamed to do this in front of me...it's incredibly crude.”

Sans couldn't tell if the monster was taunting him or was really this cold. A lump formed in his throat at the indignity—really the least the monster could do if it was going to treat him like this was unhook the stirrups and let Sans close his legs. As it was, all Sans could manage was to wilt in a puddle of his own filth and weep from humiliation.

“Oh come now, there's no need to start on that too. You were already plenty pathetic enough.”

Sans missed Onion. At least when the octopus forced him to lose control of himself, he laughed at him playfully and then moved on.

The monster climbed up on top of him, pointing its sharp member at the artificial womb. Sans gasped.

“N-no, no, y-you're not really—? You're joking—you've g-gotta be—”

The monster slammed its hips down once and punctured the womb with its member. Sans tried to scream, but it was like his volume had been shut off. He squeaked out helpless cries of distress. He had to fight hard against his instinct to thrash away, since the only part of him he could move was his middle, and that would only bury the dick deeper in him. Or cleave him open completely.

A hot fluid gushed into the wound.

“Hgk...uk...hn...hnn...”

“I'm ejaculating semen into you now. Can you feel it?”

Sans gave a whimpered wordless reply.

“Describe the sensation for me. How does it feel for it to go directly into your womb?”

Sans couldn't answer. He had to answer or he'd be punished. He couldn't form anything close to words anymore, breath coming out in grunts that sapped him of what little air he had left. Everything was being sucked out of him, like being crushed in a vacuum of space.

Then there was a flood of endorphins, a flash and a hand reaching for him, and it was over.

 

<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Oh come now, there's no need to start on that too. You were already plenty pathetic enough.”

Sans shivered in the cooling puddle underneath him. He was hit with a terrifying sense of déjà vu. The monster was climbing up onto the table, aiming the awful member at the womb.

“No! No! S-stop, don't do it please don't—”

The member pierced him, and the monster was muttering grotesque questions to Sans as though he could answer, as though he weren't in blinding pain, as though it weren't killing him.

Sans' vision tunneled, then spiraled into a hush of black.

 

<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Oh come now, there's no need to start on that too. You were already plenty pathetic enough.”

Sans strongly felt that he'd already been through this, that he could still see it coming but couldn't stop it, the monster getting up on the table and readying itself to bury its member inside him.

Sans' whimpers turned to heaving sobs. He pulled hard at the restraints on his wrists, but the sharp pain still came, the vile gush of fluids, the casual interview that continued callously despite the lack of answers.

The bastard was still asking Sans how he felt as Sans was accepted into the merciful clutches of oblivion.

 

<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Oh come now, there's no need to start on that too. You were already plenty pathetic enough.”

“D-don't do it, don't do it please it's too much, I've had enough, please, I c-can't take it I can't take any m-more”

The monster got up on the table.

“Quiet. I haven't even done anything to you.”

It...hadn't. Why did Sans think it had? Why did he think he already knew what it felt like for the sharp member to punch a hole in him and cum inside?

Sans coughed out a dry sob.

“No no no no...no no no...mercy, have mercy...”

It drove into him, and it felt exactly like he thought it would, it was disgusting and cold and the monster didn't even care what it was doing, and maybe Gaster knew a thing or two and that's why there were no photos of this monster along with the pictures of his lab partners and old colleagues.

 

<<<<<<<<<<

<<<<<<<<<<

<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Oh come now, there's no need to start on that too. You were already plenty pathetic enough.”

Sans gasped like he'd been pulled out of a pool. He tasted burnt rubber. His body went rigid, the other monster's words drowned out by the roar of panic in his brain.

“Use the pig one!”

“Excuse me?”

Sans felt a clench of mortal terror, and he abruptly knew with absolute certainty that it was this or the end.

“Please use the pig one, fuck me with the pig one instead, it...looks like it would be really...interesting? D-don't you want to see how it works on me—with the tip going all the way up? And you'd feel really g-good, right? It seems like it would really...it would...”

Sans choked on the words. He couldn't tell if any of that sounded appealing to the other monster, still didn't know at all what it wanted.

“don't kill me please I—” his voice broke. “I d...on't want to d-die like thi...s”

For a terrible, long moment as Sans' soul held on one beat, the monster considered him.

“Hm. That seems fair.”

The monster got rid of the sharp member and brought back the pig penis. The shape was still frightening, but at least it couldn't stab his womb like a knife.

The monster settled itself between the stirrups and touched the tip of the member to the hole of Sans' pussy, leaving the dick pointed straight out between them and not pushing it in yet. It put gloves on its hands again, then dragged a hand through the bluish puddle under Sans' legs and used the waste magic to begin to lube up the penis.

Then it started pushing. The spiral stimulated Sans some going in, but after it was through, the girth of the member wasn't enough to make the pressure pleasurable. Instead, the long thin shape made its insertion feel more like the tight pressure of a giant needle.

The member hit an obstruction, and the doctor gave an unceremonious thrust to push past it. There was a cutting pain, and then some red leaked out over the pinkish purple opening of the cunt. The monster ran a finger through the red fluid.

“It looks like I've pierced the hymen. I suppose I didn't need to design a virginal entrance for you.” The monster made a mocking facsimile of reassuring smile. “I apologize for that.”

Whatever that meant, Sans guessed that it translated to the doctor making some extra unnecessary pain for him on purpose.

The member kept inching forward carefully for what must have been the longest thirty minutes of Sans' life. Finally, there was an unpleasant tightening higher up than Sans felt a dick should ever go.

“I'm in the cervix now. Tell me when you feel the ejaculate.”

The torrid gush was hard to miss. Sans looked down against his better judgment. Through the semi-translucent magic, Sans could see the cum flooding past the cervix and filling the womb. He decided to look away after that.

The monster sounded impatient.

“Do you feel that?”

“Y-es doctor.”

Sans' words unexpectedly broke on a sob.

“Describe the sensations. Be detailed.”

Sans only cried harder. He couldn't deal with this, couldn't be a whore and an experiment at the same time, he needed to go home and scrub himself with his own two hands, needed to bury himself under seven layers of covers, needed someone to tell him he was good and everything would be all right. He also really needed to pee again, but he held on desperately.

The monster struck him across the face.

“Answer me.”

The penis was still releasing inside him, mostly blocking semen from leaking out. But since the cunt wasn't also spiral-shaped, the tip of the penis made an imperfect plug. Some cum crept sluggishly through the block, making a slimy itch.

Sans couldn't begin to know how to verbalize any of that. He couldn't think of or form any original words, so he pulled from one of Onion's scripts and repeated it mechanically.

“It f-eels really h-hot inside me. Y-you're filling me up...”

The monster's face scrunched in distaste.

“I suppose that's what I get for asking you.”

It got to work at easing out, a significantly simpler process than entering once the penis started to soften. After a short time, it flopped out the rest of the way on its own. The monster dispelled it.

“You want me to rut you like a sow? Want me to stimulate you to climax?”

“I...I was only...I was...”

The monster reached to the device in Sans' soul.

“Those sensations are only nerves—they can be simulated.”

The foreign magic took control again and Sans' whole body spasmed. His cunt was seized by the tight contractions he only got when he'd been pushed all the way over the edge. He'd somehow skipped over physical stimulation entirely and cut right to the chase, his pussy swollen and pulsing in spent satisfaction.

“Are you having an orgasm?”

“y...yes...”

“How about we do multiple?”

“Ah-h...ahhh!”

Three consecutive orgasms rolled through him, his hips freezing up and jolting with each one. The monster tapped at the device.

“And another...”

“p-please stop.”

The monster fixed its cold eyes back on Sans' face. It appeared unmoved, but took its hand away from Sans' soul.

“It doesn't feel good?”

“No...I mean...it, it feels good, but it...doesn't...”

“You're not making any sense.”

“I.” Sans gulped. “Y-you don't care at all. It makes it k-kinda...scary.”

“Why should that make any difference?

Sans looked away. Maybe it shouldn't make a difference? It certainly shouldn't make a difference to Sans, because he was probably never going to have sex with anyone who cared about him.

Either the monster accepted the plea or had gotten tired of toying with him, because it shifted its focus back to Sans' womb. It touched the outside lightly, and Sans cringed.

“Muffet insisted that I not actually impregnate you, so we'll be dispelling all this. A shame...”

Sans held his breath. The monster quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Well? I don't need to show you how to do that too, do I? You know how to dispel?”

Sans quickly let go of the magic—too quickly, for how much and how complex it had been. He felt a dizzying backlash from the abrupt change. He expected the fluids made from his own magic to disappear, but he'd also expected to feel the foreign fluids spilling onto his bones. But those had gone too.

The doctor's mouth twitched as it felt down Sans' spine from the bottom of his rib cage to just above his pelvis.

“...of course, there's the question of whether the reproductive organs would reform in the same state if you were to call it all up again. Or, were you to become fertilized, if its status would continue to develop while not formed.”

The monster showed Sans a mischievous half-smile.

“Hm. Schrodinger's pregnancy.”

It shrugged, removing the messy gloves and eyeing Sans' bare bones with interest.

“Muffet tells me that you've been used.”

“I...th-that's my...job, doctor...?”

The monster waved a hand dismissively.

“Not physical sex. I mean melding with magic.”

The way Sans immediately broke eye contact must have been answer enough for it.

“Was it soul to soul?”

“N...no, it was...uh...genitals...”

“It had parts made of magic as well? And it made you meld them?”

Sans closed his eyes, voice small.

“y-yeah.”

“That must have been very degrading.”

Its voice was mild. It wasn't trying to empathize, only offer an observation.

“It surprised me to hear you had any experience at all. Monsters these days seem to think melding is too old-fashioned...too vulnerable to try.”

Sans felt the doctor's hands fondling his lowest ribs, but he kept his eyes closed.

“To be frank with you, I don't have much interest in participating in the physical act of sexual intercourse. I'm much more intrigued by the idea of melding.”

“nn...hn...n...”

The hands touching him moved to cradle his soul, thumbs rubbing small circles on the surface. Sans couldn't open his mouth. His breathing came rapidly.

“Unfortunately...due to my condition, attempting to meld soul to soul with another monster would likely be deadly for me.”

That's right. It couldn't do that. It wasn't going to do that. This wasn't going to come to that.

The monster thumbed the device still sticking out of Sans' soul.

“But this device allows for something I call a 'soft meld.' I can't feed primary magic into it directly from my soul, but I can meld my secondary magic into your soul, at least. I'll only get the feedback when I recall my magic, but I'll be able to watch you react to the process.”

The hand was back on the end of the device, funneling more of itself inside.

Sans struggled, hampered by the restraints.

“No! Not that—not that, please! No... no-o...”

The monster lurched violently forward and clamped a hand over Sans' mouth.

“Shut up _shut up_ , haven't you heard your own voice enough tonight you _disgusting little whore?_ ”

Sans went rigid. The monster straightened, but kept its hand on Sans' mouth.

“You should be grateful I'm sharing myself with you like this. It's not as though you deserve it, but I'm curious. And unwell as I am, it's not a chance I get frequently.”

The monster kept feeding magic inside, and rather than taking control or sharing information, Sans felt it seeping into him, mixing with him so he didn't know what was his and what wasn't.

There should have been some pitiful noises mumbling into the hand over his mouth, given how Sans felt his throat clench, but it was as though the other monster had set him on mute. The most that came out were small, huffing breaths of air on the palm of the monster's hand.

Eventually, the monster took its hand away, and Sans only gave a helpless shudder in response each time more magic was introduced and melted into him.

Sans didn't know what a proper soul-to-soul meld would feel like, but he had a guess that it wouldn't feel this crushingly lonely, like something was with him but not, something unaware and unthinking was inside sharing space with him. It was like the thing had died in there, and someone had strapped a mocking, smiling mask on it like Sans wouldn't know the difference.

Then he was overtaken, too weak to keep hold of his own identity.

He felt sickness, boredom, and suddenly it was though he was standing over himself, looking down. He felt an absurd drive to put something very heavy and flat on top of the little skeleton, compress his bones into jelly until the sniveling prostitute was utterly destroyed and Gaster spilled out from the ruined mess. There was something of his father in his eyes, in the texture of bones it had managed to brush over casually during a healing session a long time ago, but Dr. Gaster was nowhere else in this thing.

It hated him _hated_ him, may as well use him to sate its curiosity, may as well, if it can't bring Gaster out, use the pitiful thing as an incubator and ruin him, _destroy_ him, claw him out from the inside and _rip him to pieces_

Sans hyperventilated, soul going into fluttering panics. The monster had finished filling him with magic, but he needed it to take it all out, too. He tried to plead with it, but his voice was still gone.

Not that it would make a difference. He could vividly feel how much the monster wanted him to suffer, how much it wanted him to be degraded and maimed and fucked into submission, used as a receptacle—not because it would take particular pleasure from it, but because it felt Sans deserved it. Felt it was a fitting punishment for his existence.

There was an ugly burbling, like Sans' soul was simmering and roiling inside. In spite of all its hatred, the magic seemed to feel that the best way to act inside of Sans' soul was to consummate. There was a sticking, like the tar black magic was spitting out and clinging to the walls, pulling the soul in to contract like it was forcing an orgasm on a pussy. Sans involuntarily bucked in his restraints and gave a high whine. The first real noise he'd been able to produce since the magic melded with him.

Sans kept mouthing soundlessly at the monster above him. It was looking at him blandly. The magic forced Sans' soul to cum again, then again—had almost taken on a mind of its own, felt darkly pleased that it had been able to use him too, to make him bend to its will like this.

Sans could do nothing but convulse and gasp until the monster finally unplugged the device from his soul. Slippery dark magic drained out from the puncture, and the doctor collected it in a vial, putting a stopper in the top when it was finished draining.

“I'll see if I can't enjoy that piecemeal at a later time.”

The monster looked down at Sans.

“Well? Was it pleasurable? Melding is supposed to be an overwhelming experience. Bordering on sublime, I've been told.”

Sans stared at the monster. It was mocking him, even after all that, it hadn't been enough for it—

Or maybe not.

Melding was a funny thing. It stripped everything down to the most honest and raw form, or so he'd heard. Without a real connection between them, with the monster's magic slopping inside Sans independently like the corpse of a stringless puppet, perhaps the meld had revealed more than the monster had intended. Maybe, despite its collected appearance, it was not particularly self-aware.

It was possible that Sans now knew the monster better than it knew itself.

 

 

When Sans was released from the room, he didn't say a word to anyone. Muffet greeted him later on with her arms open wide for him to walk into, but he walked right past her like he was a ghost. She made no attempt to follow him. Woshua cleaned him up happily while Sans was still silent, and when Sans didn't have any more obligations for a time, he snuck off to an abandoned room and got in a cabinet.

Cecil found him eventually and brought him a donut. Sans didn't speak to them or look at them. They left the donut on his lap with a kind word and left, closing the cabinet back up as they went.

When the cabinet door opened again a while later, the human child was looking in, guilt written on their face.

An uneaten donut still sat in Sans' lap. Frisk picked it up and put it aside, then crawled into the cabinet with Sans, huddled so close they were almost on top of him.

They looked at Sans, then looked away. They looked at him again, opened their mouth, closed it, then looked away.

“H-hi...hi, Sans.”

Sans didn't respond. The human didn't look surprised. They rubbed their nose with the back of their fist and sniffed.

“I messed up—I messed up so bad. I'm so sorry. I never wanted to—I always thought it would be a bad idea, using time revving like that, that's why it's a last resort. I know it sucks when I die that many times. I...”

Sans was still unresponsive. Frisk's voice lowered to a whisper.

“I didn't want to do that to you, but I got caught off guard, something changed, I didn't expect you to die y—like that.”

“You saved me.”

Sans' tone didn't indicate that he felt one way or another about that.

“I. S-sort of. I rewound the same moment over and over...when I can't do anything else, sometimes that works...sometimes it makes something change on its own. Monsters don't always remember things with their heads, but they remember with their hearts. They call it déjà vu.”

They rubbed at a bloodshot eye.

“I do that for things like...making monsters think they remember me, and then I lie to them about how they know me...or sometimes, if I can't get on someone's good side, I...let them kill me a few times, and then when they see me again they feel guilty and don't know why...”

They looked at Sans, but he hadn't looked up.

“But it doesn't feel good. I knew that, and I knew I shouldn't use it like that on you, but...”

They rubbed their eye harder.

“I thought I could leave for a little, I thought you were going to be fine, because you were before—I didn't save early enough to be able to do anything better. But why weren't you fine? What was...”

Their pupils shrank, hands out in front of them like they were in the middle of telling Sans 'it was this big.'

“...I switched your guards.” Frisk put their face in their hands. “I switched your guards. I'd never done that before. How could I forget that...? The guard that let your friend die, I, because of me, he...he got the shift looking after you instead...”

Sans' voice was still expressionless.

“So, you're a time traveler.”

“I'm...yeah.”

“Why didn't you tell me before?”

Frisk muttered something.

“You're gonna have to speak up, sweetheart.”

“...I said, you asked me not to tell you.”

“...what?”

Frisk rung their hands.

“You found out and...you got scared. You said that I shouldn't think it was my job to save you, that _you_ shouldn't think it was my job to save you. You didn't want to...you didn't want to have hope about it. But I said I wasn't going to stop trying. So you asked me to go back and not tell you.”

They turned their gaze back to him. Their eyes were dimmer than before, but there was still that distinctive burn to them.

“I just want you to know that I...I _want_ to do this. You matter to me. You were my first friend.”

“What about that flower of yours? He's chopped liver?”

They shook their head.

“I met you before I met him.”

They looked at him with pleading eyes.

“I'm still not going to stop. I'm going to save you.”

“Kid—”

“'—you look bone tired,' yeah, I know, Sans. I'm okay.”

“I was going to say you have a lot more backbone than me.”

Frisk snickered.

“I've heard that one too, Sans. And that's not a time trick. After a while there aren't a lot of bone puns.”

Sans finally seemed to be coming out of his funk, and he eyed the child with a distinct expression of distress, their words sinking in. Frisk waved their hands out in front of them.

“It's...i-it's okay, I'll make you forget again...I promised...I promised you that. I just...for a little while, I wanted to tell you, because it. It gets really...it gets really lonely...when you don't know.”

“Kid, you can...you can leave it like this, it's okay—”

They shook their head.

“I'm gonna erase this, and there's nothing you can do. It's okay. I can do it. I just needed a little...little, tiny break.”

Sans sighed and reached out to stroke their hair.

“I hope you know what you're doing, kid...”

The child flinched.

“That's....that's what you said last time, too.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<

 

The door of the cabinet swung open. Frisk looked at him for a moment like they were going to say something, then jumped on his lap and started sobbing into his neck.

And just like that, Sans snapped out of his fugue.

“Hey, shh, c'mere...”

He wrapped his arms around the child's back and rocked them.

“It's all right. It's okay.”

Nothing was all right, but he meant it anyway. He pet the back of their head, and their crying quieted a little.

“I'm so tired Sans, I'm so t-tired, I messed up...I'm bad...”

“Shh, it's okay sweetheart. It's all gonna be okay. You're good. You go on and take a nap, huh? We'll get you a nice private bed and I'll stand guard, and you'll—”

The child fell asleep on top of him. Not long after, the two of them were napping together in the cabinet, curled in a comfortably melded pile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later, they realize frisk sat on the donut
> 
>  
> 
> Kink requests accomplished just for you:  
> -sensory deprivation, blindfolds, gags, eye fucking, edging, calling clients 'sir' and 'ma'am', sex toys, massage, tiiiny bit of foot stuff, (subtle?) body horror, medical kink
> 
> this chapter messed me up and honestly i need someone to wrap me in a blanket and tell me i'm good  
> okay have a nice weekend


	11. Limited Time Only

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: just don't read it
> 
> i don't even know how to introduce this chapter, man, it's a fuckin beast it's so long. It divides pretty well into a part 1 and part 2, but if you really hate yourself and want to read it all at once, please drink lots of water and don't stare at a screen for too long. About every twenty minutes, look away from the screen, consciously blink, and send a prayer to god for your lost soul.
> 
> there's now a [Red City playlist ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLW0d1YesPHgfn3SlsPDRkr1z1hmt2IMcM) if you want to listen to something while you read. And if you want to shout song suggestions to me, how about hopping over to [my tumblr](http://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/)? Warning: the playlist is very weird.
> 
> Many special thanks to askellie for sinful suggestions in this chapter, you know what you've done. <3
> 
> and now, reader, to leap into oblivion together  
> //takes both your hands in mine  
> //begins to fall sideways off the cliff, there's still time for you to let go and save yourself

**Limited Time Only, Part 1: Heat Week**

 

 

Gaster had drilled it into Sans from a very young age, so the first and last time Papyrus checked him, Sans' response was the automatic script of a protective parent.

“Papyrus! You _never_ check another monster unless you're prepared to fight them!”

Sans immediately regretted it. He'd been too harsh. But for his part, Papyrus should have said something back like 'even you?' or 'you'd really fight me?'

Instead, he said:

“But I could just kill you.”

Sans never once checked his brother.

 

 

Muffet casually checked Sans as she touched him. Sans had gotten so used to being treated like he wasn't a threat that getting checked didn't make him so much as flinch anymore. It had been a long while since being checked meant he would have to engage in a fight. Muffet seemed to be satisfied with whatever she'd gleaned from him.

“I have a few rules for you to follow this week, dear.”

Sans let out a breathy noise to indicate he was listening. Muffet had him in her lap and was massaging his shoulders, reaching under his clothes to knead at his scapulae. This wasn't exactly what he'd expected when she'd entered his room and perched on his bed. Since she was already doing him a favor, he'd thought his first day assisting her on her new project would be unpleasant right off the bat. But along with learning to accept her punishments, he'd also learned to look forward to her better moods.

Things could be good with her when she wanted them to be. Of course, that always threw into question _why_ she wanted them to be.

“After taking the first dose, I'll need you to tell me how you feel in the morning. It should start working gradually, so don't expect anything big on the first day. And remember: no masturbating, no clients, no sex. Starting on day three at least, I'll be keeping a closer eye on you.”

“No clients,” Sans repeated quietly. He could hardly believe it.

It seemed that things had gotten bad enough that even Muffet had to bend to Sans' inflexible problems.

Sans hadn't been able to sleep in his room. He'd gotten in trouble the first couple times Muffet caught him sleeping in the hallway, but after punishment failed to change his behavior, Muffet started tucking him in against the floor corner instead.

Sans wasn't able to stay in places where he heard someone close the door—he'd ran and scratched at the door out the rec room until someone opened it for him, only to break down once he realized how small and constricting the outside halls still were. Muffet had even come to Sans' rescue once when it wasn't strictly necessary. A client had insisted on tying Sans down, and once restrained, without any further threat or provocation, Sans was immediately set off—crying and screaming, pleading for the client not to kill him.

Muffet had looked truly exasperated with Sans, but hadn't punished him.

Instead, she'd promised him that she would give him the week off from clients. In exchange, he was going to help her with something she'd been working on with Madjick.

That was another monster Sans had heard of, but never met, and he wasn't alone in that. Madjick spent most of his life sequestered away in his family's tower, safely studying magic and selling his mixed creations through second parties. The slogan for his products was 'you can buy happiness.'

Apparently, Sans had him to thank for the pudding, and now the little wizard had concocted something new that Muffet was eager to show off.

It just needed to be tested more first.

Sans tried hard not to think about the fact that this made him an experiment again. Tried not to think about examination tables and straps and stirrups and expressionless monsters hovering over him. It was possible Muffet's soft attitude toward him was an effort to preemptively ease his panics about what this week was going to do to him.

“What, uh. What makes this different from the pudding?”

“The pudding lasts for a few hours—”

Sans snorted.

“—or more, on a large dose. This one is meant to simulate part of a hormonal cycle. Madjick said it's called 'estrus.'”

She looked at Sans with sudden curiosity.

“...do you have those? As a skeleton, I mean?”

“No, we...don't really have any kind of cycles.”

Skeletons didn't need to eat or sleep or breathe to live. They only needed the magic and energy in order to move around (which was, admittedly, usually an asset if you wanted to live). Like most monsters, they could reproduce using their souls, but unlike most other monsters, they didn't have the option of reproducing with their physical bodies.

Sans was wary of going into too much detail about those things with Muffet. He didn't want to find out what would happen if she got it in her head to starve him, or put him on a semen only diet, or whatever sadistic idea she might dream up for his clients.

“Well, in any case, this should work on you just the same.” Muffet unlatched a small briefcase she'd taken in with her. “It rides off magic like the pudding, but it's too potent to be digested like food.”

“So how are you going to—”

Muffet took a needle out from the briefcase. Sans went rigid, his pupils contracted to slits. Muffet stroked up and down his back soothingly.

“Shh, I know you're scared honey. Be brave, and this will be over before you know it. Just today, and the next four days. You'll hardly notice it next time.”

Sans shut his eyes. Muffet wasn't holding him down, but he felt like he was being gripped in place, escape impossible.

“Open your mouth and lift your tongue for me. That's it. That's it. Just a little prick.”

Sans felt sharp pressure under his tongue. She'd injected into a vein of magic on the underside.

“There we go. Not so bad?”

Sans nodded obediently but didn't open his eyes until he heard the briefcase snapping shut again.

“As I was saying...unlike the pudding, the synthetic hormones will have a staggered effect. The buildup is gradual, so it makes for a more potent result at the peak of the cycle. You may also find yourself acting a little differently once it kicks in.”

Sans gripped her tighter at that.

“You gave me something that...that changes how I think?”

She rubbed his back again.

“It's only for a limited time. It wears off after you stop taking it.”

Sans counted his breaths. His grip loosened a little. He could do this. Muffet was giving him the week off. He could prove to her it was worth it.

“Anything, uh...anything else I should know...might happen?”

Muffet was thoughtful.

“Well, Madjick said you won't be able to dispel your pussy after the second day.”

She took a measured look at Sans' expression.

“That's not permanent either, dear. Just for the week.”

She went back to massaging Sans, which seemed pretty generous of her considering how inquisitive he was being.

“And of course, at the end of the week we'll have our little performance, and you'll have just one client after that.”

Muffet really was being freer with information than usual. Sans supposed that in this case, she was relying on him to give her feedback, and he had to know at least a little in order to do that. But even though she'd mentioned it before, she hadn't gone into detail about what was expected of him at the end of their experiment.

“So, performance as in...like juggling, or 'performance' with euphemistic quotes around it?”

“The second one, dearie, but you knew that.”

“I can always hope somebody has a fetish for good, clean entertainment.”

 

 

By the morning of the second day, it was already clear that nothing was going to be good and clean about this. He'd managed to sleep through the night in his own bed for the first time in who knew how long, but his clothes and sheets were soaked with sweat. Sweat, and some other excretion that smelled strongly of sex. His shorts were at his ankles and his shirt was hiked up under his arms, like he'd wildly tried to cool off in the night. He still felt warm.

Muffet took one look at him that day and smiled. A slow smile that started almost cute and spread to show all her teeth. The predatory look sent a thrill up Sans' spine.

 

 

The third day, Muffet woke Sans up before daybreak.

“Sans! Stop that!”

“Whu—wha?? I didn't do it, I was asleep!”

“Sans.”

Muffet pointed down. In his sleep, Sans had stuffed his pillow between his legs, and had ridden it so hard that it was soaked down to the stuffing. Even as she pointed it out, Sans' hips kept moving under her watch. Muffet snatched the pillow away from him.

“I suppose you won't be sleeping with that this week. Did you cum?”

“I...I don't think so?”

His cunt felt too frustrated for that. In spite of how wet the pillow had gotten, the eager gooeyness still dripping from his pussy told him it wasn't cum. Just an overabundance of...excitement. Muffet sighed.

“I'll send Woshua before you go to breakfast.”

She turned on her heel before leaving.

“And no hose for you!”

Sans put his hands up in surrender.

“No sex, I got it, I got it! Don't worry, not doing things comes way easier to me than doing them.”

Muffet didn't look reassured.

 

 

By lunchtime, Sans was too antsy to sit down. He was agitated enough that Shyren and Cecil had stopped eating to watch him, looking very confused.

“Sans, are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I'm uh...I'm fine, twerp. I feel better than usual? Lotsa energy.”

“Kay, because, I mean, I don't think there's a polite way to ask this, but are you humping that chair?”

Sans suddenly realized that the shaking of the table was being caused by his hips furiously rutting against the chair he normally sat in.

“...no?”

Shyren came over to his side of the table and offered a glass bottled soda.

“To cool down? You're looking rather hot.”

Sans wiped his forehead and gratefully took a swig. He took a long look at the bottle and began chugging the rest down. Cecil and Shyren were still eyeing him with concern.

“I guess that was the trick?”

“Are you coming down with a fever, Sans?”

Sans didn't answer either of them. He was fixated by the shape of the now empty bottle, the hard feel of it in his hand.

“Uh, Sans, you're not—”

But Sans had already shoved the lips of the bottle to his crotch, riding it with his hips and whining like a dog. Shyren and Cecil shouted in shocked unison.

“WHOA”

His pussy was making a large wet spot through his pants that was dripping down his thighs. Some part of him was disgusted by his behavior, didn't want to be doing this and especially not here, but most of him was heavily focused on making himself cum. If his friends had to see, that was going to have to be the sacrifice here.

“Should we...stop him?”

“But he looks so happy.”

Sans barely noticed the hand on his shoulder, but he definitely noticed the bottle being ripped away from him.

“Come along with me now, dear.”

Muffet tugged Sans' arms behind him and pulled his back close to her chest, ready to guide him away. Cecil got up from their seat.

“Muffet, what did you do to him?”

“We're just testing a little something. Don't you worry, I won't hurt him.”

She began to lead Sans to the door. Sans heard the little mouse patter after them.

“I can...I'll come help.”

“Oh? I don't think you want to.”

“Just to oversee. Sans wants me there. Right Sans?”

Sans _was_ a little frightened in Muffet's grip like this. He might be in trouble. Would Cecil's presence make her hold back, even a little?

Something dipped into his pants from behind. One of Muffet's many hands was secreting itself under his clothes from an angle Cecil wouldn't be able to see. Fingers stroked his clit, and two pushed in and out of him in a few delicious thrusts. Sans' eyes crossed.

“Haa-how about you stay here. And finish. Uh. Lunch.”

Cecil remained still, their expression uncertain.

“It's okay. I'm totally ffAH!” His attempt to regain composure failed, if Cecil's face said anything. “Fine.”

Muffet was backing him out of the room. Cecil stepped forward again.

“I can—”

“NOPE. Nope. Ha...ha ha...thanks twerp, I'm good, I'll...see you later!”

The cafeteria doors closed on Cecil's flustered expression.

When Muffet let go of Sans and let him walk for himself, he hurried down the hall so fast he came out ahead of her, and had to hold back just so he could tell where she was going to take him.

She'd changed her mind. She was going to do him. The process must be working faster than she expected, and she needed to work off some of his excess energy. It was going to be just like his other training sessions with Muffet, minus one significant detail.

Finally, finally Sans was going to enjoy his time with her and there wouldn't be anything for her to get mad at him for. He could do anything she asked right now, use any toys, he didn't care. He just needed to come a few times and he'd be okay. He never thought he would feel so intensely grateful for her touch as he did from even that one small preview in the cafeteria.

They got into a private room, and she went to work right away securing Sans' arms with her webbing. He was practically giggling with excitement. He found himself actually looking forward to that bullshit she'd spouted the first time she did this, about how being restrained could make sex feel better. He was definitely ready for her to take control.

Still, as she stuck his wrists together, he wrenched his head forward to nibble at her neck. He could feel her throat vibrate as she chuckled. He hadn't noticed before that she had such an enticing smell to her—like she'd always just finished baking something fresh.

She really was a handsome woman: spindly arms, flaring hips, and those two long fangs that hung over her lip in a sharp overbite. Everything about her screamed deadly to a fine point. Maybe she'd let Sans experience a little more of her this time?

He had the feeling that some things with her were always going to be off limits, but the heated pulsing of his soul made him bold. He moved his nipping up her chin and closer to her mouth, but predictably she tugged his face away before he reached it.

She used the webbing to stick him comfortably on the bed, unable to get up. His legs were spread and tied down like that, which was making him pant in anticipation, right about until he started to realize that he wouldn't be able to touch himself from this position at all, wouldn't be able to so much as rub his cunt mindlessly on anything. And Muffet wasn't touching him anymore.

Muffet crossed her arms.

“I saw how you were acting in the cafeteria. I told you that you're not allowed to masturbate.”

“I wasn't—I didn't!”

“Shh, shh. I'm not mad, Sans. You're not exactly yourself now. But I can't have you rubbing yourself on everything in the building.” She winked. “Woshua's angry enough with me.”

Muffet brushed a hand over Sans' cheek, and he replied with a high whine. Muffet looked his prone form up and down.

“Besides, if you cum, you'll be working off some of the effects too early. We need you nice and heated by the end of the week.”

“Ha...you're...joking, right? You never...I always have to be ready to fuck, except now? Now you won't touch me? There's no way I can do this for a week.”

Muffet smiled.

“It's a good thing it's only a business week then, hm? I'll bring some food for you a bit later, dear.”

She walked toward the door.

“Muffet, Muffet please, can't you—just one time? Just three? Okay, two? Just two good—come on, I'll make it look good on stage, I'll act however you want, you're not really gonna make me wait until—”

She closed the door.

 

 

Day three was starting to feel very long. Sans felt feverish and groggy, his thoughts clouded and his cunt glowing with heat. For a while when he was alone, he tried to make himself cum by forcing hard contractions, but it wasn't enough. He slipped in and out of dreams of monsters doing him one after another while he was tied down like this, making him sticky and full, but the illusion was shattered by the disappointing clenching, empty feeling he woke up to.

Muffet came by a few times to feed him and bathe him with an ice cold wet washcloth. The bath was a huge relief up until he unconsciously bucked into the cloth cleaning between his legs. Muffet took the opportunity to tease him more, slipping the cloth into him and rubbing him through it. It was a nice friction, but too cold to get him going. Muffet laughed appreciatively at the broken, needy noises she coaxed out of him.

She came by again a couple hours before bedtime.

“You're still going to need at least a _bit_ of daily stimulation.”

Sans' eyes lit up.

“So I'm letting your friends in to play cards with you for a while.”

Sans' sockets went dark.

“You said 'stimulation' on purpose.”

“Yes I did, dear.”

The set up was a little embarrassing—Sans was strapped down in a sitting position, with his wrists strapped to each other (making for a difficult card game) and a plastic dog cone around his waist, flaring upward to prevent him from reaching his pussy. He was leaking pretty much constantly now, so a towel had been secured between his legs to soak up the excess juices, and his hips tied in such a way that he couldn't rub on it effectively enough to get off.

It didn't stop him from fidgeting on it throughout the game. The rough texture was so horribly tantalizing, like a giant tongue.

Sans was grateful that Cecil and Shyren didn't try pretending this wasn't happening. That might have been something someone on the outside would try. But in true Red City fashion, they were open to the point of crudeness.

“Sans, let me hold your hand for you, or you'll get it wet.”

“You're just trying to cheat.”

“Seriously, I finally found this deck and it's probably the only full deck in the Underground.”

“And now everyone will know it belongs to Red City. Anti-theft sweat, you're welcome.”

“Sans your _discard pile smells like a threesome_.”

“Just like how I'm hankering for a 'foursome' of Kings?”

“UGH.”

“Go fish.”

Muffet came back later to show the others out and get Sans settled for sleep. She tied him back to the bed, testing the webbing to see that it was comfortable, but tight enough to be effective. Sans blearily tried rolling over, and it worked about as well as expected. He mumbled.

“Muffet, could you say 'stimulation' again?”

“Stimulation?”

“Could you say 'cum'?”

“...cum?”

“'Thrusting' maybe? Hot, sticky, pumping, wet, cock, cunt, fucking—”

Muffet giggled and pet Sans' head.

“You forgot 'hard' and 'pounding'.”

“nguhh! Uhh...ggk...”

“Did you...did you really cum from that?”

“ _oh god I wish_ ”

 

 

On day four, Muffet came in with breakfast on a cute little tray. She rearranged Sans so he was sitting upright under the tray. The tray was vibrating over him. He'd slept well enough, but his hips had been quivering since he'd woken up. Had maybe been at it all night. It was a wonder the joints weren't too exhausted to move yet.

Sans acquiesced to being fed, maybe partly because Muffet made unconscious licking and chewing motions with each spoonful of oatmeal she gave him, and the motions of her mouth helped to fuel his fantasies. In between foods, though, Sans looked down at the tray.

“Muffet, you're...not really going to keep me tied to a bed for three whole days?”

“Of course not, dear. I have to take you for some nice, healthy walks after all.”

“'Take' me...?”

This translated to Muffet fitting Sans with the collar and leash, his hands still tied together. Walking through the halls, Muffet had to keep paying attention to him, or else he drifted close to other monsters and rubbed his chin on them like a cat.

At one point, Muffet stopped to talk to a guard, allowing Sans to catch up with Loox in the hall. Loox was curious about the drug, but Sans did his best to get Loox to talk about more distracting topics instead—unsexy things like who'd caught magic sores lately, which clients were temporarily banned from the premises, who really badly needed to invest in the miracle of toothpaste.

Loox didn't seem to have personal space issues, as Sans had gradually closed the distance between them until any kind of personal bubble had popped and they were touching.

Loox did, however, touch Sans' head in gentle discouragement as Sans had started leaning further down and breathing deeply.

“Sans, there's no easy way to say this, but as a friend I have to ask if you're trying to smell my genitals right now.”

“...no.”

 

 

When Muffet took Sans back to the private room and tied him down again, she took a vibrating egg out of a pocket. Sans nearly cried. Muffet looked down at him.

“Why Sans, it's almost as if you want me to use this on you.”

“Yes please...yes please!”

She turned the egg on. Sans could swear he felt the air vibrations coming off the shaking toy before it was anywhere near him. A jolt went through him from his cunt and traveled up his spine. As Muffet lowered the toy toward him, his body rolled in eager waves.

She brushed the toy over his clit only once, then pulled it away quickly to leave him bucking wildly against empty air. Then she slid it over the lips of his pussy, and it popped inside with the lightest push. Sans spasmed, panting heavily as the toy slipped further in him, not quite at a hard enough setting to get him there.

Muffet gave Sans' ribs an affectionate stroke, then pulled the egg out of him. She put it back in her pocket.

“No no, Muffet, I want it so bad, it's so hot, it's driving me _crazy_ ”

“Not yet, dear.”

“I...I changed my mind, Muffet, you...d-don't need to give me the week off, I can handle some clients, I can d-do it!”

She smiled fondly and bent to kiss Sans' forehead.

“You're a good boy.”

She turned away from the bed.

“N-no! I'm a bad boy! Muffet, punish me, please...!”

She closed the door on him.

 

 

On the fifth morning, Sans was a trembling, sweaty mess, and a cold bath barely made a dent in the heat before he was exuding sex from every pore again. When Muffet unpacked a needle for the last dose, Sans groaned.

“Ugh, not more.”

The needle wasn't so bad anymore. It was really just the rest of it that was the problem.

“I'm pretty sure one more dose of that will make me combust. I swear. Poof! Experiment ruined.”

Muffet pet him as she finished the injection.

“Hush now. There we go. That's all of them. You did a very good job.”

From her position stretched over him, she reached between his legs and started up a lovely rhythm there.

“No, come on, please don't work me up again. I was just starting to get used to a new level of hell.”

“That's why I have to do it, dear.” She whispered close to him. “Just think of how nice tonight will be.”

Sans' body betrayed him, getting into it despite knowing how this would turn out. He squirmed under her, begging with tight breaths, with the language of his body. When Muffet took her hand away, it was like his cunt didn't get the memo. He'd tried to prepare himself, but he felt a distinct physical disappointment.

Sans muttered breathlessly.

“I just wanna cum please I wanna cum so bad, please let me...”

“Shhh. Tonight, Sans. Very soon.”

It was hard to feel too upset about this treatment when even without climax, every sensation felt heightened. Muffet was straddling him, teasing at his bones, and the heat radiating off her skin was like a soft kiss wherever she touched. He felt her curves on him, felt the grip of her inner thighs on his waist.

And as much as he whined, the anticipation and denial had crossed a line to become almost pleasurable in and of itself. Muffet's teasing read much more as playful than cruel, a reminder of the gratification that was in store around the corner.

Muffet bent down to kiss Sans on the cheek, and he felt the broad side of her fangs tickle and graze him. With that, any other complaints washed out of him.

 

 

Seeing that big crowd suddenly made it a lot easier for Sans to clam up and stop being so wild. He shook with the effort to control himself.

How could he possibly be getting stage fright now? The urges were definitely swinging back around to unbearable, he needed this to end, he needed to be fucked in any way he could get it. But up on stage in front of what appeared to be every monster in the Underground? Enough of him was still himself that the sight made him hug his coat sleeves. He knew he'd be forced to part with them soon.

Muffet was at the forefront of the stage brandishing a mic and introducing the show. The lights from the stage made the audience too dark to make out, so maybe Sans' mind was exaggerating the size. The echoes of the room weren't helping the audience sound any smaller.

Sans' trembling may have been half desire and half nerves at this point. Muffet's speech drifted in and out of his hearing as he gazed blank-faced at the crowd.

“—offering a new service next month. If you're looking for something _spicier_ in your weekend dalliance, all you'll need to do is order the menu item of your choice—and request it be served 'with Heat.'”

Muffet did a half turn to Sans and gestured for him to stand beside her. He inched forward, and she continued speaking, some of her hands grabbing his shoulders and pushing him forward the rest of the way.

“We'll be demonstrating the effects for you this evening as a special preview.”

Muffet slid behind Sans, holding up his arms like a scarecrow on a pole.

“Poor Sans here has been in heat for a week with no relief. Just look at how wet his clothes have gotten!”

She shrugged his coat off his shoulders and whipped it out, spraying some moisture across the stage. Her other hands were unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt, but left it on him. The buttons of his pants were next.

“That's nothing, though, compared to here.”

She tugged his pants down and pulled his legs apart so the audience got a clearer view of the strings of wetness clinging stickily from his cunt to the crotch of his pants. Sans' pupils went out in his sockets. He stupidly yanked the hem of his shirt in front of his pussy to guard it from view, but of course Muffet neatly pulled his hand away.

She held out his pants with two other hands.

“Of course, if you choose this service, you'll have to be prepared for things to get messy.”

She rung out the pants for emphasis. They made a small, clear puddle on the stage.

“Very messy.”

Sans heard snickering from the crowd.

Why did this have to happen first? At least if someone were just fucking him up here, he could be distracted enough not to think about all the eyes on him, all the monsters that were going to remember this performance later.

Sans tilted his head up at Muffet and whispered out the corner of his mouth.

“Muffet...please...I'm losing it here...”

Muffet smiled down at him, then looked back to the crowd.

“Messiness is hardly the main attraction of heat,” she winked, “though I hear it's a bonus.”

She lifted Sans up, hooking her arms into his and spreading his legs in a straddle facing the audience. She used another hand to spread the lips of his cunt.

“Thanks to being in heat, this little pussy is _very eager_ for some action right now. How much?”

She dipped a finger into Sans and drew it out long and slow, bringing a high keening noise out of him. He breathed hard and bucked, but the finger wasn't in him anymore. Muffet rested her chin on his shoulder, giving the crowd a sultry look and dragging the next word out.

“Insatiably.”

She lowered Sans to the stage. He huddled up in a humiliated puddle, having a hard time making this look as good for an audience as he'd promised Muffet he would. He heard her calling behind them.

“Madjick? If you wouldn't mind.”

Sans' head whipped around. The reclusive magician was here, seated in the corner of the stage. He'd managed to blend with the curtain before, but now he glowed with magical energy. There was a flash on either side of Sans, and suddenly he was being approached by two tall golems.

The golems looked like they were made of rock, but they had the translucent, shimmering surface of ghostly anatomy. When they'd closed Sans in, they looked down at him in unison with the same eyeless faces. In spite of his need, Sans was intimidated.

One of the constructs picked Sans up by his underarms. The other bent Sans' knees and pushed them up to his chest, balancing Sans' pelvis on its hips. Sans felt the manifestation of a cock settle over his pubic bone.

Sans was slick and ready, heated from the hormones and all the brutal teasing, but—all those eyes were on him. Not one person in the crowd would have a thought to stop this. They were watching him and maybe thinking about dominating him next. And these constructs of Madjick's were huge, and hard to the touch, and...soulless. Their grip on him, their eyeless gaze—if anything went wrong, they wouldn't be thinking about what they did to him.

Sans was scared.

He was really, really scared.

He gave a small hiccough of fear, concentrating all his power on controlling his expression. He couldn't have a breakdown. Not now. Muffet would be angry with him, all these people were watching...

The texture of the golems suddenly turned softer. Sans' head sunk a little into the softening chest behind him. He looked up into the golem's face, saw the flash of an eye on its forehead, and then he heard Madjick's voice inside his head.

_Easy. They won't hurt you. I have complete control._

The golem holding Sans' arms grew another arm out of its stomach and stroked his back. The soothing motion only served to bring Sans closer to tears.

_Fuck no stop, I'm gonna cry_

The hand stilled.

_Your emotions are a little volatile at the moment, right? It's okay, that's to be expected._

Sans felt like he could hear the crowd muttering, could feel their impatience like a smog settling in the air, thick and ugly. The golems were still just holding him between them. It probably didn't look very exciting. Sans gave a panicked bounce of his hips against the golem's cock.

 _You've g-got to start, they'll get mad_ —

_Relax. We have all the time in the world._

The whole room dimmed. The audience voices muffled to a buzz of pleasant white noise.

_Time...time magic...?_

_Not exactly. I've hypnotized you. To be frank with you...we've already gotten started, but I'm giving you a moment to catch up._

Sans could feel a muted pressure below, like he was feeling something through a dream. It was a distant pleasure, a non-sentient massaging caress like a jet of water, or the touch of warm pebbles heated by the sun. It didn't mean him any purposeful harm, but the incidental pleasure was reassuring.

But...

_Why are you...bothering to do this?_

_I take my product seriously, Sans. I want it to be used for its purpose, not for torture. If I can make this feel good for you, I will._

Madjick's visage drifted into view like a ghost over him, shifting his hands like he was pulling invisible strings.

_My business is pleasure._

Sans felt more tugging below, a heated rocking that he was sure was still no where near the intensity of what he would be feeling if awake.

_Ha...you...came to the wrong place for that._

_Oh really? A brothel, the wrong place for pleasure?_

_Well sure, someone's having a good time. But clients don't pay to make the whore feel good._

_Hm...I'll keep that in mind._

Sans felt a pulse sweep through him, a tingle up his spine like someone was tickling up his back with a feather. Madjick looked to the side as though he were seeing the waking world on a screen somewhere.

_You've come once already. Your body's very relaxed now. Are you ready to wake up?_

_Could I have just...one more second, please?_

_Of course._

Sans floated on nothing, like he was made of nothing. Maybe just a passing thought in someone's consciousness.

_Hey, do you think this is what death is like?_

Sans couldn't see Madjick's eyes under the shadow of his hat, but he appeared to recoil slightly.

_Why do you ask that?_

_It just seems like it would be kind of nice._

As they moved, Madjick's hands made patterns in the air that left visible echoes.

_Hm...that's more morbid than I prefer my navel gazing to ever get._

_We're all gonna die eventually. I like to think I'm being an optimist._

Madjick looked down and reached into his sleeve.

_Well, I don't know about that..._

He pulled a ribbon out of his sleeve and whipped it at the air, erasing the blurry echoes of his movements.

_...but I can show you what living feels like._

Madjick stepped back and faded away into the darkness. The landscape was so black that Sans couldn't tell if it was infinite or ended just beyond his touch. He heard Madjick again as though he weren't speaking, like his words were more feeling than sound.

_You're getting sleepy._

_For real, you're doing this? When has that ever, in_ history _—_

_You're feeling very, very good._

Sans' breath hitched. It was like he was being dipped in a warm bath.

_I'm going to take care of you. You don't need to worry about a thing._

Hands and tongues were soothing him all over, he was falling through the floor, sinking into a warm embrace

_When you wake up, you'll find your needs are being taken care of._

He landed on the couch in the room after his session with Doggo; he recognized the smell, the cum stain next to him—but this time when Sans impulsively drew his fingers through the sticky leftovers, a dark figure was over him, enveloping him with more warmth, guiding his hand with theirs over it, dipping between his legs with the cum, their fingers over his, murmuring to him that this was _incredibly hot_

He slipped down further into sheets and sex smells and a voice still encouraging him to push the cum further in, begging to be allowed to fuck him after, a mouth against his but he could no longer see anyone or anything through the impenetrable darkness

_You'll need more badly._

The darkness was somehow warm, it coated everything, he still felt a mouth on him and he was shot through with longing so hard that his spine went rigid.

_It's okay to beg. I'll treat you well._

He felt the tongue draw out of his mouth, saliva trailing between them and the wet heated breath still palpable, though the only thing visible above was one glowing eye.

_Wake up._

 

Sans had already swallowed. He was face to face with the golem's dick as it twitched the last of its release onto Sans' chin. An unfeeling, unthinking automaton, but Sans had roused it to climax. He'd made it shiver like that, spent and dazed.

Behind him, Sans felt the other golem holding his hips up and teasing its cock along the underside of his cunt.

The coiling heat in Sans' gut came back full force.

He lunged forward and suckled at the cock like he could coax more out of it. The creature over him bucked once into his mouth, like a plea. Sans reached out and pumped his hand on the shaft, rolling his tongue and then bobbing his head smoothly over the cock, taking it to the back of his throat.

He needed to taste it for himself. He'd missed too much already. This was his reward—he was finally being allowed to take this all the way, finally allowed to cum as much as he wanted.

The golem behind him slid into him and went to work. The pounding inside him was already easing something, uncoiling him into a demolished mess of bliss and gratification.

Suddenly Sans' head was grabbed, and the creature came in his mouth again, riding against his tongue and petting his head almost gratefully. Sans gulped, determined to take everything into him.

When the golem in front released him, the one behind changed his position. It pulled him into its lap faced away from it as it sat down, bringing Sans' face and his arousal in full view of the audience. It stopped bucking into him.

But he needed this, he needed it so bad, and his hips were already moving, bouncing on the cock and riding it wildly as his hands scrambled for purchase, finding it on the creature's knees. Then as though it couldn't take its own restraint anymore, the golem rut up into him with a few hard thrusts, culminating in a flood of warmth.

Sans stopped almost rapturously, mouth hanging open. His whole body stilled, his face pulling an expression of ecstasy and his hands shaking hard where they gripped the giant knees.

The gushing inside him had triggered a feeling of completion, of success. He'd gotten what he needed. He moaned in relief, his eyelids fluttering.

The golem dispelled, and Sans' hips landed on the floor of the stage. The satisfied feeling passed quickly, making way for an even hungrier need than before. It seemed the performance had done little more than whet his appetite. He panted with his tongue hanging out, speaking in a hoarse whisper that nonetheless traveled the acoustics of the cavernous room.

“M-more...please more...”

Muffet stepped up beside him, twirling the mic in her hand.

“You hear that? Tonight, one client will get to be the first to test this out. Well? Which of you would like a private turn?”

She did a showy look around the room with a hand to her temple, like she was sighting land from a crow's nest.

“...how about it, your Majesty?”

Sans' head snapped up in surprise to spy Asgore's unmistakable giant silhouette in the crowd. The king's answer drifted up in the deadly silence that followed Muffet's invitation.

“Ugh.”

Muffet shrugged good-naturedly.

“Suit yourself, sire.”

She gave a small bow.

“For those of you who _are_ tempted by the display...we'll be having an auction for the privilege. Remember, we won't be offering this service as part of our regular menu for another month.”

She wagged a finger.

“So don't miss your chance.”

 

 

Muffet led Sans through the crowd. There was something different about the way monsters looked at him as he passed. He'd been publicly degraded before, made to look at the reactions, but this time he didn't see the usual sneering looks, the laughing mockery, the muted pity. Monsters were turning to look at him and sniffing the air, and their eyes shone over with a hungry desire.

Sans had never felt so wanted before, and it was gripping him with impulsive urges that bordered on ridiculous. He wanted to stop where the crowd was thickest and simply let them get at him, do what they wanted. He felt uncharacteristically little reserve about his safety, much less his dignity. Only Muffet's continued pull on him kept him grounded.

He saw that Muffet was leading him to the tallest figure in the audience. Sans raised himself on his toes and whispered to her.

“Has the king ever actually uh...visited Red City to...?”

Muffet leaned in and muttered.

“Not even once, the big prude.”

Once they reached Asgore, they stopped before him and Muffet bowed respectfully. Sans clumsily followed suit.

Muffet's tone didn't match her polite manner.

“If you're not here for the show, your Highness, may I ask what brings you?”

“I just wanted to see first hand that things are going smoothly.”

Sans was in another world entirely. His eyes raked hungrily over Asgore's physique, and a thrum at his groin told him this was exactly what he should be after. Go big or go home.

As if in a trance, Sans was stepping closer to the king. His whole body shook with the effort to hold back from rubbing up against him.

Asgore noticed his hunched approach and looked down at him with disdain.

“Can I _help you?_ ”

“please your highness, please do me, I'll do anything you want, I can make it good for you—”

The next events happened very rapidly. Asgore's foot pulled back, and a second later Shyren was rolling onto the floor, clutching her stomach.

She'd jumped between Sans and the king.

She raised herself shakily, coughing a little before speaking.

“Please, sire: he barely knows what he's saying, and that could have killed him.”

In response, Asgore only made a noncommittal hum through his closed mouth.

But he did look actually perturbed that he'd hurt Shyren. He bent on one knee to help her the rest of the way up.

“I'm truly sorry. On your next free night, I would like to invite you for tea in apology.”

Shyren accepted his hand to steady her, but when she was standing again, she didn't look up at him.

“Thank you, your highness. I'm afraid I'll be too busy to join you.”

A whore too busy for the king. Sans wished he had Shyren's chutzpah.

Asgore made a disgruntled expression, evidently trying to hide shock. Then, as though he hadn't made the invitation at all, he let an awkward silence send him off, whipping around with his robes flapping behind him.

Sans turned to Shyren, feeling at her stomach. The other workers' lack of personal space had started to rub off on him.

“Shyren, I'm such a piece of shit, I'm sorry—”

Shyren touched his hand, stilling him from searching for injury.

“I'm okay, Sans. And you're drugged—he's the one who tried to kick you. It's not your fault.”

Sans stopped fussing over her, but stayed close.

“Okay...okay...thanks...”

Shyren laid a hand on his arm with a smile, then just as quickly looked down in surprise, holding her hands up.

“...Sans, are you humping me?”

Sans leapt backwards.

“oh god I'm sorry!”

He put his face in his hands and squeezed his legs tight together, unwilling to move himself until he felt Muffet putting hands on his shoulders to guide him again.

“Muffet please, please get someone to fuck me already, I can't stand it—”

“There now, dear. Let's go.”

 

 

Sitting alone in the private room was agonizing. It could have been minutes or hours. Sans knew he would get in trouble, he knew there were cameras, but he could tell himself it was Muffet's fault for leaving him to his own devices as he grabbed a pillow and curled over it, pumping his hips into it.

It was hardly enough, anyway. It barely scratched an itch. That chair leg looked promising—maybe if he turned it on its side and rode it—

The door opened, Lesser Dog standing behind it. Sans startled and tumbled off the bed, the pillow and some sheets coming with him. He scrambled up in the mess and got to his feet, hurrying to stand closer to his client.

He'd been disobedient, but he couldn't feel even a tinge of fear. He stared up at the dog with clouded eyes, taking in the muscle and breadth of his body.

This was perfect. Lesser Dog had powerful stamina, and no one was rough quite like he was. And the dogs ejaculated more than probably any other monster Sans had done, their knots making sure everything they poured into him would stay in there. There was no way Sans wouldn't be sated after this.

Sans couldn't at all disguise how happy he was to be given to the dog for this. The crotch of his pants became newly soaked with a fresh flush of arousal just at the sight of him.

The dog didn't seem to miss a thing. He took in Sans' desperate squirming with a slow leer up and down Sans' body, lingering between his legs. From then on it was as though he purposefully moved like every motion was through an inhibitive layer of jello. It felt like he took a full ten minutes to hang his coat at the door.

Sans' body closed the space between them, unable to hold back any longer. The dog picked Sans up fully, holding him away.

“And just what do you think you're doing? I was interrupting you.”

“Wh—”

Lesser Dog laughed and tossed Sans onto the bed, then picked up the pillow and shoved it at Sans.

“You want the pillow so bad, you can have at it.”

“No, no _please_ —”

Lesser Dog leaned close, speaking low and breathing directly on Sans' face.

“The faster you do as I say, the sooner my cock will be sinking into you.”

Sans stilled entirely, an anticipatory shudder running through him. His eyes half-closed and he breathed out shakily. Lesser Dog kept his face close and his tone low.

“You gonna be good?”

“Okay...okay. Okay.”

“Pants off.”

Sans unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down, tossing them on the floor. They landed with a wet slap. Then Sans bent himself over the pillow and rubbed his cunt against it. He felt it getting slick and sticky under him. The dog was still standing up by the bed, looking down at him.

“Look at me when you're being punished, puppy.” As Sans raised his eyes, the dog reached down and cupped his chin, tilting his head up. “That's it, right in the eye. Now tell me why I'm punishing you.”

“'Cause I...cause I didn't wait.”

Sans thrust his hips up and down on the pillow. This should have been awful, but the dog taking charge of him like this gave him the same illicit thrill he got from being spanked. The dog's words felt like sex washing over him, the humiliation felt like sex.

“You're a naughty puppy, aren't you?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Come on, say all of it.”

“I'm...I'm a naughty puppy...'c-cause I didn't wait...”

The dog snorted.

“Now don't make being bad sound so _good_ , pup. Say it again. Why am I punishing you?”

Sans' thrusting halted with a hard jerk of his hips, and he hugged the pillow tight to himself, panting unevenly.

“I'm naughty, you're punishing me 'cause I was b-bad, _please_ —”

The dog obligingly reached a hand between his legs. Sans was so close that it barely took a rub on his clit for his pussy to tremble in climax. Sans gave a happy whine that broke in the middle.

“Oh my god, you _liked_ that. You liked that a _lot_. Just needed someone to put you in your place once and for all, huh?”

“Y-yeah, I...I did...I did!” Sans rolled onto his back, spreading his pussy open with his fingers. “Please, come on, I c-can't wait any more...”

This time when the dog moved away, Sans nearly started to cry. Before Sans could leap off the bed to hump the dog's leg, Lesser Dog was approaching him again with ropes in his hands. Sans still had his fingers stuck spreading his pussy out hopefully until the dog pulled at his arms and started tying Sans up at the wrists. Then the dog picked Sans up and pressed his back to the wall so his feet weren't touching the floor, and got to work strapping the ropes from Sans' wrists to hooks on the wall.

Sans kicked.

“No no no don't do this to me, don't tie me down please, please just fuck me, just fuck me!”

Lesser Dog pet Sans' face. Sans almost bit him out of frustration.

Sans had never felt so exposed and so denied. The whole process was taking far too long. He kept trying to rub his hips on the dog's abdomen, physically pleading for relief, but Lesser Dog only pushed him flat against the wall each time to continue tying the ropes.

When the dog finished, he made the cruel choice to step back and admire the work rather than making use of it. Sans yanked at the ropes, crawling halfway up the wall with his untethered legs. He moaned.

“Please fuck me. Please please please.”

The sound of a zipper unzipping made Sans' whole body freeze and triggered a dribble of juice to squirt from between his legs. The dog leaned in close.

“So make me want to.”

Desperation made Sans' words come out crystal clear. He didn't stutter once.

“Stick it in me, take me, fucking rape me, please oh god I need it, I need you to treat me like a bitch, I deserve it—”

The dog teased the head of his dick on Sans' pussy. It made a squelching sound, already slick and dripping.

“Little more, pup.”

“You _got what you wanted, you fucking dick!”_

Lesser Dog's eyes met Sans' and he pulled his cock away. Sans wailed.

“You—you wanted me to beg for your cock, so I'm begging, I'll keep begging, I'll do whatever you want, please just start fucking me. You were right about me—I can't stop thinking about you fucking me, I touch myself thinking about it, if I weren't stuck here I'd still be begging you to fuck me, you make me feel so good, please...”

Lesser Dog slipped his dick inside and buried himself to the hilt. When Sans felt the dog's hips pressing against him, he sighed.

“Ohhh that's good. Oh god it's so good.”

The dog gave a few slow, rolling thrusts.

“Hhhaa...harder...please harder...fuck me harder...”

The dog's rutting only sped a little. His pumping motions were so gentle it felt loving. Sans was sobbing with need.

“Plea-se this isn't fair I need it so bad!”

“All right, all right, I'll give it to you.”

Lesser Dog shushed in his ear, pulling Sans' face close and giving one more slow pump inside of Sans' pussy. Then he pounded his hips against him rapidly. Sans howled.

“This good for you, Sansy? You like this?”

“I love it, I love it, more...please more!”

Lesser Dog raised an eyebrow.

“More?”

He humped Sans harder, fluids dripping from between them each time he slammed in. Sans groaned.

“Untie me, please...please untie me...I want more...I need it...”

Lesser Dog laughed, but he started untying the binds while he kept moving his hips in and out.

“Jesus, if we go any faster your pussy's gonna be mincemeat, little doggy.”

As soon as Sans was free, he launched himself at Lesser Dog, toppling them both over so Lesser Dog landed on his back.

“Whoa!”

Sans grounded himself with his palms on Lesser Dog's chest and humped his cock. His whole body was slick with sweat—he'd probably never worked so hard in his life.

“Hey! Get off!”

Sans pushed himself off and fell back in a sprawled sit, tongue still panting and hips still humping helplessly at the air. He whimpered long and pitifully.

“Why...? Why? Please don't stop now please come inside me, please put your cock back in me please—”

Lesser Dog rubbed his behind, laughing.

“I fell on my ass, you little cunt! That fucking hurt!”

He boxed Sans in with his arms. Sans was rigid with the effort of holding still until Lesser Dog's knee went between his legs, and Sans immediately rubbed himself on the dog's thigh. The dog licked his neck.

“I could've broken something. You'll be lucky if I don't break something of yours.”

Sans whined, juice from his pussy wetting all up and down the dog's leg.

“Break me, hurt me, punish me...punish me with your cock...”

Lesser Dog laughed again, sliding back into Sans and hitting the back of his cunt with the head of his dick.

“How could I possibly say no to that?”

The promised punishing pace had them both moaning into each other, and for a moment there was no talking, no teasing, just hard rutting.

“You come yet, pup?”

“I...n-not...yet, I haven't...yet...”

“Jeez.”

Lesser Dog slowed down, apparently reluctant to come before Sans. Sans responded with a pitiful pleading whimper.

“Please, please, please, cum inside me, it feels so good when you—I c-can't cum until you do, please, please I need you to cum, please cum, please cum in me—”

That seemed to convince him. Sans repeated it like a mantra, encouraging the dog as he worked up again. Finally, the knot started to grow and Lesser Dog went absolutely still. The wait couldn't have even been a full second, but the anticipation was unbearable. Sans was teetering so precariously, he almost came just from hearing the dog's satisfied groan of release.

Then cum started to flow into him, hot and fast, and Sans wrapped his legs hard around the dog's hips as though he could get them any more closely tied than they already were. Sans gave a few stuttered breaths that became something like words.

“ohhh my god...oh my god oh my god”

Sans' eyes rolled up and he let out a sound that was a laugh or a sob. He wasn't used to an orgasm lasting this long—maybe this was closer to what the dog felt, with its continuous pulse of cum. He felt like he needed to communicate in some way how the gushing was keeping him perched in this state of orgasmic relief for longer than anyone reasonably deserved.

“I still feel you cumming in me, it's so amazing, I don't want it to ever stop...it's so good when you fuck me, it's so, so good...”

The dog was laughing, and Sans had a vague idea that it was at his expense. How he must have looked, drooling and writhing, so overcome with pleasure it had triggered something primally amorous. He _needed_ the dog to know how good he'd made him feel. It didn't matter how much he debased himself so long as Lesser Dog knew just how thoroughly he'd taken him.

The dog started settling down to wait out the rest of his release. Pressing more of his weight down coaxed a ridiculous bleating noise out of Sans, so of course the dog kept squeezing his body down on him until the only reactions Sans had left were some moans and twitches of surrender.

“Ohh...o-hh...god...”

Sans closed his eyes and let his head fall back, letting the still crashing waves of ecstasy roll through him. The feeling was so pure it was almost meditative.

Other than some continued sighs and hums, he must have been quiet for longer than the dog liked.

“We're gonna need a whole 'nother session just to punish you for knocking me down.”

The euphoria blocked any fear Sans might have felt at that statement. He kept his eyes closed.

“You're sure spending a lot of money on me lately.”

“Watch it, or I'll take my cock away.”

Sans smirked, opening one eye.

“...you're stuck to me.”

The dog gave a harsh downward jerk of its hips, but the added pressure only made Sans' eyes roll up as he let out a gratified cry. There were still some reactions left in him after all.

“...I guess I can't punish you like this.”

“Guess not.”

“Not until we come unstuck.”

Sans looked Lesser Dog in the eye, eyelids lowered and gaze dim and glassy.

“You're not gonna punish me.” He raised his head up as much as he could from his prostrate position, his voice going so low it was almost inaudible. “You like me being a good doggy.”

The dog blinked down at him.

“…or maybe you like me being a bad doggy...?”

Sans reached up to push under Lesser Dog's abdomen and force his cock to give a strong twitch inside him. The dog spasmed.

“Fuck!”

He lurched forward to aggressively lick inside Sans' mouth.

 

 

Muffet stood over Sans. He was still on his back, Lesser Dog long gone from the room. Cum had been dripping steadily out of his cunt for the past who knew how long, but he was reluctant to move. He didn't want to clean up and let go of feeling dirty and used and...good.

“Can you stand up, dear?”

“D-don't think so.”

Sans looked up at Muffet blearily. He was pretty sure he still had a stupid smile on his face. His jaws were sore.

“Muffet, one more? I can do one more. Maybe a couple, I can keep going, you can make some more tonight—”

“Ohhh no you can't, dearie.”

Muffet made an attempt to cradle him in her arms, but it seemed he'd gotten heavier. She scratched at her head, then crouched down and took out a towel to start on him as he was.

“Believe me, you'll thank me later for not letting you do more. You're going to be feeling this as it is.”

She pinched his cheek.

“You're a good boy for suggesting it, though.”

As she brushed the towel over his cunt, starting to clean the excess, Sans surprised even himself by closing his legs and growling at her to stop. He hardly knew what he was saying, only felt instinctually possessive.

“That's mine...that's mine...I earned it...”

Muffet swiped the towel away and blinked once. Then she burst into inelegant laughter and fell back on her behind. She kept laughing for a full minute, until finally she calmed a little and wiped at her many eyes. Sans noted distantly that it was the first time he'd seen tears on her face.

She crawled over Sans' body, lining her face up above his.

“It's not going to do anything in there, you know. If you let me clean you up, I'll make you come one more time tonight.”

Sans gazed up at her.

“You can't...play with me with it still in there...?”

Muffet's cheeks puffed up with a snort. She looked close to losing it again. She wiped the sweat off his face with a handkerchief and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I'm beginning to think we misclassified you, dear.”

Sans was about to ask which food pin covered this particular eccentricity when Muffet's slowly stroking fingers flushed any questions out of his mind. Gloved fingers were sliding in and out of him, teasing him with the cum already inside him.

He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, unable to move an inch. He didn't urge her to increase the pace. This time the slow, gentle buildup to climax was exactly what he needed.

 

 

 **Limited Time Only, Part 2: The Crash**  

 

Sans didn't like to complain about minor things, but if Madjick was serious about wanting the drug to be an overall pleasant experience, then Sans should probably tell Muffet about the aftereffects. The next morning, after breakfast, he felt weak all over, and only part of it seemed to be because of the expected soreness of his hips and legs. It was an airy dizziness, like he was always one wrong step away from taking a tumble.

He was on his way down a hall when a guard intercepted him.

The guard had a wide, toad-like face, but the coloring of an orca and a fin sticking out the back of its guard uniform. Sans hadn't seen it in B Section before, but he thought he might have seen it when the big crowd was gathered for the show. Muffet had probably needed the extra hands.

“Muffet wants to see you.”

Sans looked up at the guard groggily and swayed where he stood.

“Oh...she psychic or something? I was just—” he stifled a yawn. “I was just...going there.”

The guard stayed in front of him. At first Sans thought he'd been insulted by the yawn, and wanted to tell Sans off, but after a moment he gathered that the guard intended to lead him to Muffet.

Not like Sans didn't know the way, not as if he would ever try to blow her off. But as Sans took a wobbly step forward, it seemed that the guard might actually be necessary for Sans to make it there.

Sans stopped paying attention to the way as the guard led him on, but at some point Sans became aware again that they weren't going a way he knew. It was possible that Muffet wanted him to meet her somewhere outside her office, but that idea was struck down when they exited B Section and went into D Section. At that point something was getting weird.

Muffet didn't make workers come to her if she was off in another section. She tended to deal with the workers she was close by, and let things wait in other sections until she made it back around. Sans was starting to get an idea of what was actually happening now, but he didn't have it in him to do anything about it.

His hunch was just about confirmed when the guard opened a hidden door in the wall and motioned Sans ahead of him into the monitoring room. The monitor on duty passed Sans on their way out, giving him an apprehensive glance but remaining silent and pointedly not looking at the guard.

So for once Sans wasn't out of his depth when the guard shut the door behind them and unzipped his pants, pulling his cock out.

“You know what to do.”

“...yeah.”

Sans didn't bother arguing or going for the door. Either Muffet would come stop them or she wouldn't. So Sans went up to the guard and got on his knees, placing his hands on the other monster's hips.

The guard's cock was one to add to the list of weirder ones Sans had seen. It was growing, worm-like, out of a fleshy slit on the guard's lower abdomen—it looked like a pink tentacle. It curled around in the air like it was seeking Sans out on its own. Sans repressed a shudder. He tried calling back to the nearly suffocating levels of arousal from the past week, but he was so tired. After a second when the feelings weren't coming, Sans forced himself forward and took the organ into his mouth.

He could feel the guard shiver.

“Ohhh yes that's good...”

A hand rested gently on the back of Sans' head. It didn't seem to be there to force Sans to work faster. When Sans swirled his tongue around the tip and swallowed back more of the dick, the hand on his head gave him a stroke of praise.

There it was. Sans felt some heat between his legs, and another pet on his head made it hard to deny where it was coming from. He gave a hard suck, pumping a hand on the shaft, and the guard bent over him with a moan, clutching Sans' head with both of his hands.

A smooth graze of his tongue up the underside of the dick was rewarded with circular strokes of the guard's thumbs on Sans' temples. The crotch of Sans' pants were starting to feel damp.

But the guard was taking a while to cum, and Sans' drowsiness was getting worse. It didn't help that Sans' head was being cradled so securely in the large, gentle hands, or that when he slowed or lost pace, the prehensile member worked inside his mouth on its own.

It took Sans opening his eyes for him to realize he'd blacked out. He automatically yanked his head back.

“Oh shit—! S-sorry...!”

The guard was still holding Sans' head. He made a chortling noise.

“You're fine.”

When it was clear Sans wasn't going to make any more sudden moves, the guard eased his cock back into Sans' mouth and pumped his hips. The warmth and the rhythmic motion was, incredibly, lulling Sans back into a drowsy haze.

“You're fine,” the guard repeated. “Mm, it's good...”

He was? It was? Well, so long as the monster had nothing to complain about...

Sans slipped back into sleep. When he woke up, he'd been moved to a closet, his pants were around his ankles, and semen was sticking between his legs.

 

 

Sans could have sworn he was scheduled for a session tonight, but a guard never showed up to take him there, and Muffet wasn't around to ask. It was Lounge Night for the other workers, so he shook off the confusion and headed to Lounge B.

The other workers that spotted him looked confused to see him, too. When he went to the bar, the cricket worker shrugged at him.

“I don't think we have a table for you? It looks like all the trays are taken...”

He trailed off, looking right behind Sans. Sans felt a paw on his wrist.

“Hey pup, don't bother, we already got our drinks. Come on.”

Sans followed Lesser Dog with such automatic obedience that not even the suspicious smirk on the dog's face could make Sans hesitate. Still, Sans kept his eyes on his shoes, unable to look the dog in the eye as hot shame flooded his body. He didn't think he could ever look at him again without turning bright red, his head trying to work out whether he wanted more to hide or be fucked senseless.

“Sans, oh my god!”

Hiding would be good.

Packed into the booth right next to Dogamy and Dogaressa, in full royal guardsman regalia, was Papyrus. Sans turned to stone, immovable and non-breathing.

“I can explain!”

Wait...why was _Papyrus_ saying that? Wasn't that what Sans should be saying right now?

But Papyrus looked almost as mortified as Sans to be seen here.

“They kept insisting I visit this place; I did so under protest! This is not how I usually spend weekends in fact this is my very first time inside this establishment and I didn't even know it was here to begin with!”

It would have been perfect fodder for Sans to mercilessly tease his little brother later if it weren't for some pertinent details.

“Wait, why the hell am I so embarrassed about you seeing me here when you're already here?”

Oh god

“You're dressed too nicely to muck it up in a place like this, brother. I would chew your ear off more over it, but again, I suppose I am here too.”

Papyrus had gotten up and approached Sans, smoothing out the shoulders of Sans' suit.

“...oh my god, you're dressed so nice. Is this typical for you now? Are you really walking around the city dressed like a real, responsible adult? Who are you and where's my brother?”

Something caught Papyrus' eye. He put a finger to Sans' lapel.

“...what's...”

The way Papyrus jerked backwards, eyes wide with shock, told Sans that the Boss knew what the food pins meant.

Sans wondered if it was possible to dust his own dust into even finer remains and disappear completely from the world.

The dogs burst into uproarious, barking laughter.

Dogamy slapped the table.

“Don't tell me you didn't know, buddy. Your bro's such an exhibitionist I figured everyone had gotten an eyeful by now whether they wanted or not.”

“Last week sure was a show.”

“—so wet he left puddles in the hall—”

“He's got a mouth on him, you know what I mean?”

In a split second, Sans made a decision about how he was going to spin this, so he planted a wry grin on his face and forced words out before he could lose nerve.

“Come on, TMI much? No one wants to hear that shit, so why don't you let him be?”

Papyrus stared dumbfounded, and even the dogs stopped, apparently very amused by Sans' change in attitude.

Papyrus grabbed Sans by the arm and yanked him away from the table, walking them to a quieter part of the lounge. They were followed by the dogs' cacophonous laughter until they reached the other side of the room entirely.

Papyrus rounded on Sans.

“Sans, what is going on? What are they—”

“I work here.”

Papyrus went stock still.

“This was...this was the actual job the king offered me. He wanted to, uh, he wanted to help us, but he didn't think you would...like this, so he told you the science thing to save face. I kinda...ran with it...'cause it was easier to tell you...'m sorry, Boss...”

Sans shuffled his feet. He didn't have to manufacture any shame, at least. He almost had _himself_ convinced with the lie—after all, it was only missing a few pieces of the truth. And things had been better lately. Things hadn't been that bad.

But Papyrus' gloved hands were curled into shaking fists.

“You mean to tell me that _this is the job_ the king offered you _right after_ —?”

Oh. _Oh_.

Sans waved his hands.

“Look, it really was a coincidence, Asgore knew it sounded bad, _I_ knew it sounded bad—this is what he _had_ , okay? Alphys has enough to deal with without me wandering around the lab with nothing to do, and...and this was available, and we both figured that, well...” _don't say anything about getting out of Boss' way, he doesn't need me laying this on him._ “...I needed to stop being a sentry.”

Papyrus looked stricken all the same.

“You needed to stop being a sentry.”

“Well yeah, I mean, it's too dangerous a job for a guy that just wants to sleep all day. But here, that's kinda the whole job, isn't it?”

He forced out a laugh, but Papyrus' expression didn't change. His voice was flat.

“Being a sentry is too dangerous.”

“...uh...yeah, that's...what I said. Don't look so broken up about it, Boss, you'd miss morning patrols way more than I do.”

Papyrus eyed Sans for a long, tense moment, but eventually gave a weighty sigh, and the awkward sag of his shoulders seemed to indicate that he was finally accepting this as reality. He looked around the room.

“Well, this is...it's certainly...”

He gestured a hand as though for emphasis, but he didn't make it there.

“...this is a job.”

A factual statement.

“I...do have some news of my own, brother.”

Sans perked up. Good. Anything but talking about him.

“The king has been impressed with our peacekeeping efforts. It seems that, since I've taken my post as a royal guardsman, the number of violent deaths in the Underground has decreased dramatically. Which is to say, actually, that for the past few months...so far as we've been able to record, at least...not a single monster has died.”

Sans blanched. That was good news, but it bordered on eerie. There was no way the royal guard alone could be responsible for that kind of change, was there? Sans knew the Boss was amazing, but this was almost foreboding.

“So, I'm being considered for promotion in the ranks. I'm going for some intensive training with Undyne in Waterfall for the next few weeks.”

Sans lit up.

“Boss, that's great!”

Everything Sans had done was worth it. Not that he could take credit for this—but things were going well. They were going extremely well. Papyrus was flourishing, just like he was meant to.

But the Boss didn't look nearly as excited about the assignment as he should have.

“Yes...it's great.”

“...Boss?”

Papyrus looked to the side, then glanced at Sans without facing him directly.

“Sans...I'll visit again before I leave the city.”

Sans put his hands up.

“Y-you don't have to do that, Boss, I know you don't like it here—”

“I want to be able to talk to you in private.”

There was no arguing with that tone. Sans looked at the floor.

“...okay boss.”

 

 

Sans held his pillow to his chest, staring up at the ceiling of his room. The Boss knew...Papyrus knew now, and the world hadn't ended. It had determinedly kept chugging along, in spite of nearly the worst thing happening.

Well, Papyrus _sort of_ knew. He knew part of it. Was that what he was going to talk to Sans about later? Call him out for his lies, then leave him? But in the end, he hadn't even looked that mad...

Sans slept uneasily, tossing and turning with nerves and loose ends.

 

 

Sleep paralysis had often felt vivid, especially after Sans had the experience to simulate...certain sensations in his mind. Since he'd come to Red City, he'd found himself trapped paralyzed in the night several times, with only the feeling of penetration, of invasion to keep him company until he woke up fully and could move again.

This time, though, he felt the whole package, so to speak—a moist spurt of ejaculate inside him, accompanied by a relieved groan in his ear. But when Sans tested out moving his fingers, they immediately and easily obeyed his command to grip the sheets.

This was real. Someone was on top of him.

A spike of panic was abruptly quashed by a soothing voice.

“Just me...not gonna hurtcha...”

It was the whale-looking guard. He was whispering reassurances, already buried dick deep in Sans and evidently finished with at least one round of use. How he'd gotten that far without waking Sans up was a mystery Sans wasn't eager to explore.

“Didn't mean to wake you. You have some pretty good reactions in your sleep. I wouldn't mind a little more...”

The guard's hips pushed down. Sans felt a pinch inside him.

“Ow...”

“Oh...hold on...is this better?”

The guard shifted himself so his dick wasn't pushed quite so far in, and the pain vanished. Then he spat on one hand and massaged Sans' clit. Sans' face heated up and his eyes drooped.

“ah...nn...nm...”

The guard's voice was a gravelly, soporific purr.

“You can go back to sleep...I won't hurt you...I got it all taken care of...”

What a convenient coincidence that the monster seemed to like Sans best when Sans was doing his favorite thing.

“Taking the uh...the 'tuna' thing a little far...aren't you...?”

“Just relax.”

The dick pulled out, writhing around on its own, and the wet tip played with Sans' clit. The sensation pulled a low, stuttered moan from Sans' throat and made his hips rise of their own accord. Sans' eyes drifted shut. The strange feeling was novel enough to make for a powerful arousal, but slow enough to ease him back into his half-awakened state.

“Go on and sleep. Let this happen. Just let me do this.”

Sans mumbled.

“Okay...okay...”

This time when Sans woke up, he could feel the relaxed wetness of his own release from some point in the night, and he tasted cum in his mouth.

 

 

“You missed a session.”

Sans experienced a moment of pure, soul-clenching terror in the second it took for Muffet to look up from her clipboard as she addressed him. He'd gotten too used to her being nice to him. He wasn't ready for her to punish him, to hurt him or find some new way to make sex a devastatingly helpless experience.

But when she saw the way he was shivering and biting his tongue to hold back noises of distress, her expression melted from neutral into a smile, and she reached out to pet his head.

“I'm not blaming you for this, Sans. The schedules got mixed up somehow. Going to the lounge was a reasonable choice, although I do wish you would have found a way to ask someone.”

Sans' knees almost gave way from relief. He wobbled a bit on his feet. Muffet looked back at her clipboard, but kept petting him.

“But we do have to make it up to the client. You're just lucky Madjick was so understanding.”

Sans startled.

“Madjick...? It was a session with him?”

“Yes, and I'm setting up for you to go to him to have a make-up session and apologize, with a gift basket and everything. You'll do everything he wants you to do. No complaints.”

Sans looked at the floor. Even if this wasn't a punishment, Muffet had a funny way of making it sound like one.

“Okay. Okay.”

Then Sans had a thought.

“...Muffet, did you say...'go' to apologize to him?”

After scribbling something else down, Muffet looked up again, ruffling her hand against Sans' head as though she were mussing up hair.

“Yes, dearie. I don't want to make him come out for our fault, it doesn't look courteous. And he's a valued vendor. You're going with an escort to his tower.”

Sans couldn't stop the outpouring of tears.

“I'm...going outside? I'm going outside...”

“Oh honey, come here...”

Muffet opened her arms and took Sans into her hold. She stroked his back.

“There, you've been good. You're good.”

 

 

Sans had long lived with claustrophobia as the background radiation of every day. Perhaps more so than most monsters of the Underground because he was of the privileged few who knew that time had been stuck in a reset loop for years, making the idea of surface living not even a glimmer in a fantasy.

But he gained a new appreciation for what the Underground had to offer as he stepped out a back door of Red City and looked up at the artificial skyline of New Home. The caverns that housed the monster capital were so enormous, you couldn't see the rocky ceiling above.

Sans' escort, a guard with antlers and a furry goatee, put his hands in his pockets and patiently waited for Sans to stop gawking. Sans wasn't sure how much time had passed when he blinked and lowered his eyes back to street level.

“S-sorry.”

The guard shrugged and nodded down the street. He led Sans along through busy thoroughfare and street vendors. It took Sans a half hour into the walk to realize the outside looked wrong to him because it wasn't lit by red lights.

Madjicks' tower was a lighthouse on the outskirts of the capital, built on a cliff overhanging the vast underground lake that separated New Home from the distant Waterfall. When the guard knocked on the door, a magic golem answered. The golem took a moment to look the visitors over with its eyeless face, then gave a nod at them and transformed into an impression of a neon sign, spelling out 'Welcome' and flashing an arrow in alternating blinks of magic bulbs. The arrow pointed up the curved stone stairs inside. Sans muttered to himself as he stepped through.

“...show off.”

The guard stayed at the door, leaning against the tower and crossing his arms. That left Sans to ascend the stairs alone.

Near the top of the lighthouse, a door opened before Sans could pass it, and another golem was motioning him in. The room was some kind of study, with books lining every wall and a desk at the far end. As Madjick stood up from his chair behind the desk, Sans heard the door being shut behind him. Sans stepped forward nervously, holding Muffet's gift basket in front of him like a ward for protection.

It wasn't that Madjick had done anything to earn distrust, not exactly, but his powers were undeniably frightening, regardless of how mercifully he'd implemented them in their first meeting. There was that, and the fact that Muffet had ominously told Sans to do anything the magician wanted. And Clarence's first warning came back to Sans now, about cameras, about how being in sight of them meant relative safety. Not even Muffet's guard was up here with him. Madjick really could do anything he wanted.

The wizard took the gift basket from Sans, waking him from his spiraling thoughts.

“How very kind.”

“Oh...uh, yeah. Muffet um. Sends her love, she says.”

Sans said it quickly, feeling awkward. Muffet had been insistent about relaying her message properly, but it felt itchily unsettling for her manner of speech to come out of his mouth.

Madjick placed the basket up on a shelf and showed Sans to a chair. Madjick floated his own chair over the desk and nearer to Sans'. When Madjick sat down, Sans could appreciate what he'd done—now he wasn't staring over the fancy desk at Sans like he was some unscrupulous CEO interviewing an intern on their blowjob techniques.

“Muffet really didn't have to make you go this far. I was starting to think I'd been too hasty in making an appointment with you.”

Sans clenched the arms of his chair. What the hell did that mean?

“So, you, you uh...you don't want me to be here?”

Madjick waved a hand.

“That's not what I meant. I did want to talk to you, and it's just as well it's here, where we have more privacy. The more important question is, do _you_ want to be here?”

Here it was. Madjick wanted his ego stroked.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I wanna be here.”

“Would you be interested in having sex with me?”

Repeating what was basically the same question immediately made Sans feel tired.

“Yeah.”

Madjick tilted his head, giving Sans a calculated look.

“If the answer's yes, I'd prefer a more enthusiastic answer.”

Sans jolted. He hadn't seen Madjick get angry yet, and he had no idea what he could expect from him if he did. Anything that was an unknown in this business was bad news.

“Yes, please, I want it!”

Madjick frowned. He steepled his fingers, his reaction harder to read as the shadow of his hat spread lower.

“That's not quite what I meant.”

What? What did he mean? What could Sans possibly do that was the right answer?

“Tell me honestly. It's okay to say no if that's what you mean.”

And that was definitely a trap, if Sans had ever heard one.

“I want to. I really do.”

“Sans...”

Madjick looked up, and the whites of his eyes shone in a bright contrast to the shadow over his face. His expression wasn't angry. Probably. Sans used to pride himself on his ability to judge what was going on behind a monster's eyes. Why couldn't he figure out what was going on here?

Madjick drummed fingers on his knee.

“I was interested in you after we worked together, and I heard there was a wait, so I immediately talked to Muffet about seeing you...it seems she moved me up the list regardless. A bit of favoritism.”

He put a hand to his chin, giving the impression that he was reading Sans, despite his still mostly hidden eyes.

“I don't mean that I've changed my mind; I would still be interested. It's only that...when I look at you, when I talk to you...I get the distinct feeling I shouldn't.”

Sans went rigid, his pupils going blank. This was Pyrope all over again. Madjick spoke in a coaxing voice.

“Did you want to change your answer?”

Sans had a sudden fear that Madjick could read minds somehow. He had hypnotizing magic, that wasn't much of a stretch, was it? Would he punish Sans if he kept lying about what he wanted, and Madjick could see it in his head?

Sans cringed back into the chair, certain he was about to meet a dead end no matter what he chose.

“I...don't feel like having sex right now. I'm really tired.”

“There now. It's better to know these things, don't you think? How about we talk a little instead.”

“But...b-but Muffet—!”

Madjick waved both hands in a placating gesture.

“I'm not going to stiff you. Er...so to speak.” When Madjick scratched his chin at the turn of phrase, Sans found himself able to let out an honest laugh. “I've paid up front. Muffet doesn't have to know how we spend the session, if that would get you in trouble.”

Against his better judgment, against everything he'd been trained to expect so far in this dirty career, Sans felt his body relaxing into the chair at the reassurances, finally feeling some ease.

“Did you uh...have something you wanted to talk about?”

“Ah. Yes. You see...”

Madjick reached over to his desk and pulled a thick volume into his lap, opening it up. The pages appeared to be hand-scripted in intensely careful calligraphy. By the color of the paper, the look of the texture, the book was just on the brink of dusting like a fallen monster. The writing was some old language, but Madjick seemed to understand it well enough.

“I couldn't make sense of what you told me before, about how the clients aren't interested in making the workers feel good.”

“Oh...yeah?”

“I've been studying the magic involved with monsters' sexual relationships for a long time. It's all heavily based on reciprocal pleasure. Since monsters are made up more of magic than of physical matter, the exchange of good feelings is integral for sex to work. Even putting soul melding aside. And it's misleading to say that some monsters have sex organs made from their magic and some don't. All of them are basically made of magic.”

The wizard carefully flipped a few pages of the tome, showing a colorful spread of inks, presumably depicting some kind of magical exchange.

“So how could monsters possibly gain pleasure without pleasuring their partner too? Even if their partner is a sex worker. That's just not how magic _works_.”

“Ha, look, Madjick.” Sans paused, suddenly worrying about his tone. “Uh...sir.” When Madjick didn't appear incited by Sans' address, Sans went on. “I don't have to have studied that kind of magic for years to take one step outside and be able to call bullshit on that. I don't know the how or the why behind it, but I know what I've seen. You've been to Red City. You think every worker that made those stains on the walls was asked if they'd enjoy it? That's their job.”

Madjick closed the book and let out a quiet hum of consideration.

When a moment too long passed in silent contemplation, Sans fidgeted. He hadn't intended to have anything of his own to add in conversation, but the earnest inquiries only gave him more questions.

Sans mumbled, looking down at his knees.

“...how did you know...?”

Madjick looked at him with interest, but waited for him to elaborate.

“Plenty of whores don't feel like it 24/7. But they do it anyway because it's their job, and no one asks them...no one asks them if they want to. But I'm...”

“You're afraid.”

Sans flinched, but didn't look up.

“The way you panicked during the show...at first I guessed it was stage fright, that you'd never done something like that in front of such a crowd. But that kind of hypnotism, you see...”

Madjick shifted on his chair, setting the book beside him.

“I use previous memories of sex to put together a comforting kind of patchwork memory. But there weren't really....pleasant memories to choose from. I had to create my own, fixing things together differently, adding things...I didn't...what I saw wasn't...I don't know the history behind you working at Red City, but it doesn't seem like a good fit for you. Given what you've been through.”

Sans trembled, feeling sick. Just telling Sans how much he knew, how much digging he'd done, Madjick had somehow managed to make him feel more violated than all his sadistic clients put together. On top of it all, despite what Madjick had seen...according to his personal philosophy of monster sexual relations, rape wasn't even something that was possible. What was it that Madjick made of what had happened to Sans?

Sans squeaked out in a small voice.

“...can I go now...?”

Madjick's shaded expressions were beginning to be discernible to Sans, and this one looked like disappointment. But Madjick stood and raised a hand with an open palm to the door, which a golem was opening.

“Of course.”

Sans was halfway across the room when Madjick spoke up again.

“Sans, wait. Please.”

Now things were going to start making sense again. Sans would turn around, and Madjick would be ready to chain him to a wall, or hypnotize him, or have his pants down for Sans to come service him. Sans turned to see Madjick standing just as he was.

“Sans, I'm concerned about what you said. About death.”

He folded his arms behind his back.

“Do you need someone to talk to?”

Sans was too shocked by the question to be anything other than defensive.

“H-hah. I think _you_ need someone to talk to.”

Madjick's shoulders went stiff for a moment, then relaxed.

“You're not wrong. I spend a lot of time alone here. I know it's difficult out there, but sometimes inside it's also...”

He turned to a shelf and eyed the titles, apparently awkward about facing Sans head on.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. But if you're interested, I wanted to offer you a job assisting me, if you're quitting Red City.”

That made Sans laugh out loud, bitter and dry. Madjick looked shy.

“I...seem to be doing nothing but riling you. You can go...”

 

 

Sans managed to wheedle his escort guard into loitering in town for longer than necessary. If he could convince the guard not to say anything to Muffet about it, it would make the slightly early end of the session less suspicious, too. Sans spent perhaps more time than he should have just smelling the greasy food of street vendors. The food in Red City was fine, but donuts were the only fried thing Sans had eaten in months. When a vendor noticed Sans passing her cart for a third time, she handed Sans a basket of hush puppies free of charge. Sans' taciturn escort paid for it anyway, apparently to save Sans the embarrassment.

In spite of himself, Sans felt some shame about how he'd treated Madjick. It was the wizard's own fault he was so naïve, but something inside Sans told him that kind of sheltered innocence deserved better than cold scorn. It was something Sans had never really dealt with, even in children. Despite their age gap, Sans had never had to explain the cruelties of the world to Papyrus. His brother seemed to have picked up on it on his own with unsettling perceptiveness.

 

 

“Sans, I think it would be nice to have some...brotherly advice from you.”

Of all the scenarios Sans had been imagining for his upcoming conversation with Papyrus, this was somewhere at the bottom of the list between 'Papyrus confesses he's married to a dog' and 'he wanted to congratulate Sans for most hours slept.'

The two of them had been given permission to meet up in part of Red City's security quarters for the guards, where there weren't cameras. Muffet had agreed easily to Papyrus' requests for privacy and space. Sans had the impression from her interactions with Papyrus that she was determined to be on his good side; probably hoped, after his first visit to the lounge, that he was a potential returning customer. Sans doubted it was coincidence that she hadn't said anything to Sans about his run in with his brother. Her bigger plans probably had something to do with why she hadn't punished Sans for walking in at the wrong moment.

Hell, she might've even been impressed with how Sans had managed to save the situation.

Now, Sans and Papyrus were set up with comfortable chairs and even a complimentary tray of snacks, but Papyrus had remained standing after entering the room, so Sans did, too. After his initial statement, Papyrus was silent for a moment, almost as though he was giving Sans time to adjust to the outlandish request. When Sans hadn't exploded in confusion, he continued.

“I've made it a ways into the inner circle of the royal guard.”

Sans nodded. Of course the Boss had. Sans had doubt in a lot of areas, but his brother's potential was never one of them.

“And with that comes more close scrutiny...more tests...”

Sans nodded again. Papyrus seemed to think Sans should know where this was going, but he couldn't guess. Papyrus huffed and spread his hands out in a helpless gesture.

“Brother...the king checked me. He knows my LV.”

Sans apparently did not have the desired or expected reaction.

“....yeah, Boss?”

Papyrus looked his brother up and down a moment, studying his face.

“You...didn't know? Ugh! That's so like you. All right...” He straightened up and stood back, putting one hand on a hip and swiping a finger under his nasal ridge. “...check me.”

For a second Sans physically forgot how to check. It wasn't as though Papyrus were baring his soul, but being outright told to size him up felt more vulnerable and personal than Sans was prepared to act with him. Sans had a split second flash of fear, as though checking his brother would trigger a battle to the death—a fight that, if it came to it, Sans had known in some detached part of his mind, had a foregone conclusion since Papyrus was born.

Papyrus tapped a foot, and Sans hurried to check him before his mind could do more somersaults.

The first thing that Sans noticed was that Papyrus' attack and defense stats were about what he might have guessed—Gaster told Sans once that Papyrus' base stats were unusually high. Papyrus had also mentioned to Sans before that he didn't measure up to other guards in terms of LV, but made up for it in other ways. That would explain why Papyrus' other stats weren't higher. Enough that the average monster wouldn't fuck with him, but not high enough to paint a picture of a past of wild, murderous rampages.

Sans shifted his focus back to look Papyrus in the eye, and Papyrus waved a hand impatiently in a 'get on with it' gesture.

Checking LV took a bit more concentration and searching than checking secondary stats; most monsters didn't even bother with it once they knew attack and defense. That was usually as much as you needed anyway. What could you hope to gain by knowing—

Papyrus – _Still can't quite believe you've never done this before, you unmethodical slob._

LV 1 EXP: 0

For one moment, Sans felt only giddy elation, because _how amazing was his brother?_ How had he gotten this far? The tricks he must have pulled.

But then reality crashed in. As amazing as the Boss was, how much of his survival had been dumb luck up to this point? And now...the king knew. Any luck he'd had had just run out.

Papyrus coughed, and Sans continued to stare at him, at a loss for what to say.

“I believe that, in addition to how things are going on the ground...this may be the real reason that I'm being sent to train. I think the king is...concerned.”

Sans twitched. Asgore's concern was never altruistic.

“Sans, I...think he may try to test me in more...practical ways soon. I think he...”

Papyrus looked to the side.

“I think he may be expecting me to try to kill Captain Undyne. To take her rank.”

Klingon Promotion, wasn't that what Alphys had called it once? Sans had always meant to watch that historical drama she'd recommended, but it had a lot of science in it and Sans had never gotten Papyrus on board for it on their movie nights.

“...I don't want to kill Undyne. I don't even think I _should_. The king hasn't outright ordered me to, but...”

He shifted awkwardly.

“It's more than that. I...we're friends. We've gotten close. Losing her...it would be like losing you.”

Sans tried not to let the skipping of his soul slow down his response.

“Look, bro, I don't really know what you, uh, hoped to get from me with this. I think you already know what you're gonna do. I mean, you're the smartest monster I know.”

For once, the way Papyrus looked back at Sans as he said it didn't have the absolute certainty it always had. That only spurred Sans onward.

“If you don't think you should kill Undyne, then you shouldn't do it. You've gotta trust you know what you're doing. It's gotten you this far, right?”

“The king—”

Sans grabbed Papyrus' arms.

“ _The king isn't smarter than you_ , Boss. I mean, don't do anything crazy—and I would tell you not to be an idiot, but you wouldn't be alive if you were.”

Papyrus gave an appreciative snort.

“So your advice is for me not to listen to anyone else.”

“I guess.”

“I could get used to that sort of advice.”

San kept gripping Papyrus' arms for just a moment too long, unsure how to transition. He clapped his brother on the elbow with one hand, since he couldn't reach his shoulder, then let go. Papyrus crossed his arms.

“There was something else I wanted to talk with you about. About...what happened...before. The cell. Waterfall...”

No. No no no. No way could he talk to the Boss about that again. Sans put his hands up in front of him.

“Listen, I d-don't wanna—” Sans swallowed. Why did he have to be getting emotional already. “I...can't we...pretend that never happened? I wanna act like that never happened.” His voice quit on him. “...please.”

Papyrus looked like the offer seriously tempted him. Sans couldn't imagine why he didn't take it.

“You don't have to talk about anything. But will you just. Let me say something? Just listen.”

Sans put his hands down and looked at the floor.

“...okay boss.”

Papyrus shuffled his feet. It was an oddly juvenile look for him.

“...those things didn't happen to you because you were a sentry, Sans. They didn't happen because it's a dangerous job.”

Papyrus was studiously avoiding Sans' gaze.

“Do you realize...did you ever think about what the difference was in our lives from before this started happening, to after you kept getting taken away?”

Papyrus forced himself to look at Sans, and Sans found he couldn't look away.

“I became a royal guard.”

Papyrus stepped forward, apparently attempting to override every screaming alarm not to make this more intimate than it had to be. This close, Papyrus allowed his voice to drop, but to Sans it was clear as a bell.

“ _It was my fault_.”

Sans took one step back as though Papyrus had struck him. This time it was Papyrus who gripped Sans' arms, just under his shoulders.

“Even when I tried to get a rise out of you, when I berated you for getting caught—when, let's be honest, you would have snapped at any other monster for being an asshole, you just...apologized to me. _You_ apologized to _me_. Do you...have any idea how that felt?”

Sans was utterly speechless. Papyrus barreled on.

“When I first got you back, I know I said some things to you that were...stupid.”

Papyrus' fingers closed tighter around Sans' arms, an absurdly gentle squeeze for how powerful Sans knew his brother's grip could be.

“I'm a coward, Sans. I said those things because I was afraid. Sitting on our couch with you, waiting for you to wake up, was like torture. And the very first thing you said to me—”

Papyrus' composure seemed to break just a little.

“Sans, I've always been worried...that you're very much like our father. That you would end up like him.”

That came out of nowhere. In an attempt to hide his shaking, Sans took on a joking tone that failed entirely.

“I uh...I'm not really in danger of uh, lab mishaps here, Boss. Maybe it's good I didn't get that science job, huh?”

Papyrus gave Sans a sideways look, but didn't comment further. He let go of Sans.

“Well, that's...what I wanted to say.”

Sans let out a breath. What a relief that Papyrus said he didn't have to say anything back, because Sans couldn't begin to know how to take a single word of this. But Papyrus wasn't quite finished after all.

“After everything that happened...is this...are you really all right...with _this_ job?”

Oh boy.

“Come on, B-boss, don't make me talk about gross shit like that with you. I'm d-doing a lot better since...stuff, let's leave it at that, okay?”

The Boss looked like he was trying to choose his words.

“Sans, you know...just because it was the king who offered you this job...”

He fixed Sans with a more deliberate look.

“...you know I would defend you, no matter what you chose to do? No matter who you were pissing off? If you don't want to do this... _I will fight_.”

A shudder went up Sans' spine at the conviction in his brother's tone. But now, there was something more holding Sans back from accepting Papyrus' help. Something beyond the threat the king posed. Something...quiet, that shouldn't be a factor at all, but now struck Sans as being more important than ever.

Sans knew something he hadn't before. Papyrus had never killed. To put him in a position where he would have to fight, a fight he could have otherwise avoided...

Sans hadn't thought Papyrus had any innocence left to protect, but now that he knew that he did...it suddenly felt like something more precious than any of Sans' suffering could justify taking away. There was a hope that Papyrus could make it through a world like this without compromising who he was. Sans would protect that with more than his life.

Sans took a deep breath.

“I-I know you would, Boss. I know. It's okay. There's no need to fight anybody.”

He held his hands up placatingly.

“Everything's good. It's all fine.”

Papyrus wore a strange expression, like he was pretending at being convinced, but making his own plans inside his head. Sans was sitting on a razor's edge.

“Listen, Boss, I don't know how much this'll mean coming from a lazy asshole like me, but I'm proud of you.”

He punched Papyrus' arm.

“You're gonna beat the shit out of Undyne in training, you know that, right?”

The guarded expression was replaced with the puffed up confidence Sans was more familiar with. Finally.

“Of course! But I will hold back for the sake of the Captain's honor, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

They parted with reserve. Sans was relieved—he couldn't imagine being able to handle affection with his brother when they were saying goodbye.

When Papyrus left, Sans was filled from head to toe with the overwhelming dread of a cut lifeline. The feeling passed as quickly as it came, like a mere hiccough of nerves.

 

 

Sans had been told he wouldn't have to have sex with tonight's client at all. Once they were both settled in the private room together, the client brought out a small can of garbage and set it in front of the couch.

“I wanna watch you eat this.”

The joke was on them. Sans ate garbage all the time. If they thought this would disgust him, then boy did they have another think coming.

Sans pulled out a slimy, blackish banana peel and downed that first. He didn't chew, getting it all in one mouthful and slurping the end in. He looked the client in the eye the entire time, like a challenge, as if to say: 'you asked for this, sucker.'

The client only grinned at Sans' compliance and sat down on the couch, sighing contentedly and spreading his legs out. He leaned back and unzipped his pants, taking his dick out and giving it a lazy stroke.

To each their own. At least this was finally a client that was easy to please.

The more garbage Sans ate, though, the more the client's groans and wet slapping noises were making him feel queasy. What about this exactly was getting them off? He was pretty sure he didn't show any signs of being degraded by this. If this were the dogs, Sans could imagine them getting a thrill out of his discomfort.

Sans choked down some used napkins and what appeared to be a bit of soap. He hadn't looked up at the client in a while. How much of this were they going to have him eat?

Sans had eaten plenty of garbage, sure, but never while someone was watching. Not that he'd hidden it—people had seen incidentally, but not like this. No one had ever stared at him like this. Sans could feel the stare without looking. He dared a glance up.

The client's eyes were sharp, intense, and he was rapidly muttering something to himself while he jacked his cock. His stare didn't leave Sans for a second, and he didn't seem fazed by Sans' returned stare. Sans hadn't noticed he'd stopped eating. The client's pace didn't even slow as his muttered self-encouragement suddenly changed to address Sans.

“yeahh...ohh yeahh...eat more, y'little fuck...eat it...”

Keeping eye contact was getting harder. The client hadn't told him that was necessary, but Sans still felt like he was being challenged. That if he got shamed by this, he'd lose. It wasn't like Sans didn't already know he was garbage.

Maybe the client had a fetish for cannibalism. Heh.

A bite into a smashed carton surprised Sans with a burst of something the texture of rotten porridge. That finally won a gag out of him. Sans heard a cry of release and a splat, and turned to see the client panting over a spent cock, seed shot over the floor. Sans shuddered, but gratefully put the rest of the carton down on top of the remaining trash pile.

“Hey whore. Didn't say you could stop.”

Sans froze, his hand still on the carton. He slowly started reaching for a sock instead, wondering how he was going to swallow it.

“Not that one. Finish the other thing first.”

Sans balled his hand into a fist. He quickly picked up the carton and crammed it into his mouth, stuffing the sock in after it. The corner of his eyes were starting to burn, but he managed to swallow after not a little bit of choking.

After a few more pieces of trash, the client was stroking himself again, muttering abuse that Sans was glad was too quiet to understand.

The look in the client's eyes was starting to become clearer to Sans.

It was like the client was looking at two animals fucking.

It didn't matter that Sans wasn't bothered eating garbage. Animals wouldn't care about voyeurs. The excitement was from catching something base in its natural state, from how much lower it was than you on the hierarchy of life. Sans had a sudden image of himself just a few days ago, rutting against everything and everyone, being played with and shown off on stage like livestock.

A half memory came back too, maybe something Sans unconsciously heard while he was under hypnosis: monsters hollering at him to take more, to show a better angle, to swallow everything. And his body happily obeying like a dog doing tricks, lifting his hips higher so they could see his pussy twitching, opening his mouth to show the cum in it.

Sans slapped a hand over his mouth, unable to eat any more. He gripped the rim of the garbage can with his other hand, his legs wobbling.

The client's breathing grew ragged.

“C'mere. Come over here. On your knees.”

Sans didn't trust himself to walk, so he got on his knees and crawled around the trash can to face the client on the couch. The client stood over him, pumping himself hard and aiming his cock at Sans' face.

“Open your mouth. Take it in your mouth.”

Sans didn't open his mouth fast enough, and the first shot of cum hit his chin, the next landing on his tongue. The client closed the space between them as he finished himself off, rubbing the head of his dick directly on the tip of Sans' tongue.

“Keep it like that. Don't swallow yet.”

The client kept moaning obscenities, rubbing at the head of its dick with a thumb long after it was milked dry. The effort of keeping his mouth open was starting to make Sans tremble all over. The taste of cum hadn't bothered him in a long while, but now it did, it really did, and he wanted this to be over.

The client spoke in rough whispers, still getting himself off on Sans' tongue.

“You like that...you like that...you want that...”

Not a question. Just an observation.

Sans turned his head and puked on the floor. Along with the cum, some garbage came back up that his body had deemed completely indigestible, impossible to convert into magic. Sans knew it was a bad sign when he meekly made eye contact with the client again, and it was grinning down at him.

“I told you to eat that, and you've gone and wasted it. You're not going until you keep it down.”

Sans shakily started a crawl back to the trash can. There was still some garbage left. The client grabbed him by the back of his collar like he was holding a puppy by the scruff. He bent Sans over the mess his stomach had given up.

“I said you're going to keep it down.”

Sans shot the monster a pleading look, but the grip on him only tightened as he was shoved further down, face low enough to be able to lick the floor.

 

 

Sans dragged himself into his bed, crawling under the blanket. He took out his phone and called Papyrus' number. He heard the beep to leave a message. Words poured out of him, wet and staggered.

“I didn't want to do this, bro, they made me, they made me do this and I don't, I don't...they're m-making me do things that I—” he gasped. “I d-d-don't want this, please save me, I wanna g-go home, I wanna go ho-o-ome...” The rest of his message was messy sobbing. He didn't even bother to hit the button to stop the message, he just curled over the phone and kept crying, spittle dribbling from his mouth and snot covering his sheets.

Sans fell asleep like that, hugging his phone and whimpering into the mattress. He didn't allow himself even a moment's pause after he woke up—he hurried to find Frisk, for some reason certain that they could help him fix his mistake.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Sans dragged himself into his bed, crawling under the blanket. He felt a hand on his back and gave a start.

The human was standing at his bedside.

Sans didn't trust himself to speak. He didn't want anyone to be looking at him. He didn't want anyone touching him.

He didn't want comfort, he just wanted to leave, he wanted out of this hellhole.

He especially didn't want to keep crying in front of people. He hated it. He hated it so much. He even hated them a little for being here right now, at this moment, and forcing him to do it, like they'd known in advance that the time was right to get him alone at his weakest. If they chose to so much as say a kind word, they'd be getting a show, caught on the camera in his room for posterity.

They threw their arms around him, and he cried like a baby.

 

 

The orca guard had upgraded the scenario this time. They were in the guard's quarters, on his bed, and there weren't any cameras in sight. The setting made their meeting feel strangely like an affair, more so than when the guard came to Sans' room.

This time, the guard had laid him out, clothes still on, and was stroking him all over, lightly, like he ran the risk of waking him. For once Sans felt wide awake, but he obligingly held still and kept his eyes lidded or closed. He'd caught on early that the other monster didn't enjoy for him to talk or respond much anyway. It should have made things easier, but at times like these when Sans couldn't even manage to drift off, it only made time move slower.

The guard straddled Sans' stomach, finally taking his dick out only to rut above Sans' hips and stroke himself. Sans thought things were going to move a bit further south, but as the guard got more frenzied and lost in his stroking with no sign of repositioning, Sans started to sit himself up halfway.

“no no no wait don't—!”

The guard came all over Sans' stomach. When the guard had soaked in afterglow for a minute, Sans dared to swat him on the side.

“Asshole! You think I can just walk out in the hall like this?”

“You wanted me to finish on you. I could tell by the way you were looking at me.”

The guard reached into Sans' pants and fingered his cunt. It made a slippery sound.

“See? Your pussy agrees with me.”

“My pussy doesn't do laundry.”

The guard grabbed Sans' chin and looked in his eyes.

“Jeez, your pupils are all blown out, too. You really like it messy, don't you?”

Sans swat at the guard's hand, ready to snap about how it wasn't a matter of liking this or that, but apparently he'd let his attitude go too far. The guard grabbed both of Sans' wrists and pinned them on the bed. He wasn't grinning anymore, just staring down at Sans and letting him take in who was in charge.

When Sans quit eye contact and let his gaze drift submissively off to the side, the guard broke the silence.

“Let's get you changed, then.”

“...okay.”

After being prompted, Sans sat back up, and the guard began unbuttoning him from the collar down.

“It only got on the shirt, anyway.”

He tossed the shirt in the corner and went up to open his dresser, then came back with a massive button-up of his own. As he draped it around Sans' shoulders, Sans tried his best to hold back the wave of snarky commentary about how totally innocent it would look for Sans to step out of the guard's room wearing a tent.

It proved too much as Sans raised his arms up, and his hands were swimming somewhere in the lower sleeves, the cuffs dangling limp and empty like deflated windsocks.

“I look like a munchkin.”

“Roll the sleeves up.”

“Then I'll look like a munchkin without a tailor.”

There was a knock on the door. Sans nearly jumped out of the oversized shirt.

“Who's—should I—? Where would I—”

The guard laughed at him and slid off the bed.

“You don't need to hide. I invited one of the guys to share you today.”

A violent tremor went up Sans' spine, temporarily locking him in place.

The guard took one step toward the door, and once Sans was able to move, he slipped off the bed after him and made an attempt to block the guard as uninsistently as possible.

“H-hey...” Sans gripped the guard's arm. “Don't...do this to me. I don't. I really don't do well with...with groups. I...d-don't...I can't do this...”

Sans got ignored, just like he always did when he asked the guard not to do something. Don't rub there, don't make me swallow in my sleep, don't cum in my sheets so much because Woshua keeps thinking it's me and he's getting pretty pissy about it. And just like always, Sans relented when his pleas went unheard, because that's what he was supposed to do.

But when the door opened, Sans wished he remembered how to rebel.

The scarecrow monster took a step inside and closed the door behind him.

Sans backed up against the guard, gripping onto him with clawing hands behind him.

“N-not him...please not him...”

Sans looked up to see if there was any reaction at all, but the guard only shrugged and god, why was he still grinning.

Sans knew he shouldn't feel as betrayed as he did, that getting Sans off once or twice and not torturing him didn't mean the guard really cared about him, would defend him. But it occurred to Sans that this, whatever it was, was the closest thing he'd had to a relationship in his whole life.

The scarecrow was taking something out from his coat.

“Hold him, will you? I wanna tell him what I'm gonna do to him first.”

“Whatever you say, Scratch.”

The guard grabbed Sans by his upper arms, lifting him so he had to stand on tip toe to reach the floor. Sans yanked his arms and kicked his legs, but the fight he put up was lackluster even for him.

“W-why are you doing this...why—why are you...?”

The guard didn't answer him. The thing in the scarecrow's hand was some kind of needle. Sans gave a harder kick at the sight of it.

“No! No, don't do this—!”

The scarecrow closed the space between them so that Sans' whole world was the two monsters towering over him on both sides. He lifted Sans' chin.

“Hush, I haven't even gotten to what 'this' is yet.”

He gripped Sans' face tighter.

“You know you got me kicked out of Lounge Nights for good? So tit for tat says...do you wanna find out what Muffet does with whores that can't work anymore?”

“Oh god...oh no...”

Sans squirmed, but the Scarecrow kept his hard grip, evidently set on drawing this out as much as possible.

“So do I.”

“I'm s-sorry! I'm sorry that you—I can do what you want, please wait, you d-don't have to—!”

The scarecrow ignored him, twirling the needle casually in one hand.

“You know that magic sores are really becoming a problem? No cure yet. They're working on it, though. And you know, funny thing, to mix up a cure you need a strain of the disease...so long story short, I borrowed a little something from Dr. Alphys' biohazard vault.”

He took the glass body of the needle in his teeth and lowered to a crouch, yanking Sans' pants down with both hands. Sans gave a wet hiccough that made him drool a little. The scarecrow grabbed one of Sans' feet and tugged it up to knee height, exposing Sans' pussy enough for the monster to aim the needle diagonally into the opening. Sans gave a terrified choke and squeezed his eyes shut.

“no please please _please_ , I hate needles, _please_ don't...”

The scarecrow startled a little and looked up at Sans suddenly.

“...you're worried about the _needle?_ ”

Sans' shoulders drew up.

“I—”

The monster stood up straight and grabbed Sans' face by the chin again, examining his expression.

“...you know.”

Sans looked away, but the monster shook his face hard, and Sans hesitantly looked him in the eye again.

“I d-don't—”

“ _You were playing along_.”

Sans shut his eyes again, muttering out incoherent whimpers.

“How did you know?”

Sans shook his head. The monster shoved two fingers up Sans' cunt, making Sans cry out.

“I already caught you, so tell me how you knew.”

“B-because there's...no biohazard vault in the labs, Alphys keeps shit in her...f-fridge, dad always yelled at her about it...”

The guard snickered. The scarecrow's fabric expression looked like a glare.

“You trying to make me look like a fool?”

“Oh god, I'm not, p-please...”

The scarecrow scrutinized his face for a moment longer before shrugging and removing his fingers, wiping them on his coat. He moved to unzip his pants.

“Well, if that's that, then there's still at least one thing I know you're good for.”

Sans hung trembling limply in the guard's grip, tears flowing freely down his face now. How did this monster always manage to make him feel this way? Just having sex shouldn't be a big deal anymore.

Even the guard seemed to think Sans' reaction was over the top.

“Wow, he wasn't this scared when I fucked him. You got a knife for a dick or something?”

“No...but it's magic, so if I wanted to...”

Sans was overwhelmed by the ghost of a sharp pain in his abdomen.

“No! _No!_ ” Sans wrenched himself sideways, but the guard held him fast. “No! No! No!” Sans' screams dissolved into sobs. “Noo...no-o-o...”

“Shh, sweetie, look, it's normal, see?”

The scarecrow tried to show Sans his cock, bouncing it in a hand. But Sans had his eyes shut tight and he was crying inconsolably, his legs slipping around crazily beneath him in a bid for escape. The scarecrow and the guard worked together to lift him and pin him to the ground on his back. The scarecrow dropped his weight on Sans, nuzzling Sans' face with his.

“I was only kidding, it was only a joke. Now how about a nice little screw?”

Sans sobbed.

“not inside me p-please not inside me, I d-don't wanna”

He yanked hopelessly at his arms, held down by two sets of hands. He flashed back to a table, restraints, a stabbing pain over and over that he could never stop. His voice came out thick.

“n-not inside I d-d-don't want it in me, I d-don't, I don't w-wann-a...”

The monster over him had paused. He seemed to eye the large shirt on sans for a moment. He lifted sans' arm by the wrist and watched how the sleeve flopped past sans' hand, and smiled. He stroked Sans' face with the back of his hand, and at the change in tack, Sans did his best to listen and steady his breathing.

“Shh, shh, honey. I'll be nice to you, okay? Your pussy's tired? No more cock for you today?”

Sans shivered and nodded. Something about the tone set him on edge.

“There now. We don't have to do that. You can do me a little favor to apologize to me instead, okay? You're going to help me make a little home movie.”

Sans closed his eyes. “O-okay.” He swallowed. “Okay. I'll d-do it.”

 

 

As soon as the door closed behind the scarecrow, Sans shucked off the childish striped sweater. It was the only thing left on him, but he would rather be naked than have to wear it anymore. He used an unsoiled portion of it to wipe the cum off his hands and face, then threw it as far across the room as he could. Where had they put that button up? He got on his hands and knees to shakily crawl for it.

Sans felt a jacket being wrapped over his shoulders from behind.

The guard was draping over him just like the jacket, and for a crazy moment it was like he was comforting Sans, despite having held a camera to capture his torment only a minute ago.

“You're still feeling it, right? How about we finish taking care of you?”

There went that.

The guard picked Sans up and laid him back on the bed. Sans landed listlessly, not bothering to react any more.

The scarecrow hadn't given Sans enough of the pudding for him to still be 'feeling it,' so the guard's playful touches between Sans' legs did nothing more than create an uncomfortable friction. When his teasing failed to get a reaction, the guard dispensed with that and simply entered Sans again. Sans barely reacted to that, either.

“You should stay over tonight. Wouldn't want you wandering around like this.”

He pumped in and out of him. Sans didn't look at him but didn't look away—he looked straight ahead, gaze distant.

The guard liked him better this way anyway, right?

Sans didn't keep track of time, but some ways into the guard's rutting, the door unlocked. In a guard's room, that could only mean one thing. The guard practically launched backwards off of Sans. Sans heard Muffet's tinkling voice from across the room.

“Give us some space, will you?”

“You're kicking me out of my own room?”

Muffet's voice was sickly sweet.

“It's not your room anymore.”

“You can't fire me for this!”

“I can, dear.” Sans could hear the smirk in her tone. “With extreme prejudice.”

At that, the guard couldn't hurry out of the room fast enough. Maybe he thought he was being given a head start. Sans didn't want to think too hard about what would happen to him. He didn't even know what was about to happen to himself.

Muffet nudged Sans' arm.

“Sans.”

Sans didn't respond. He breathed in deeply. He was so tired.

“Sweetie.”

Sans' hands flew to cover his face, and he breathed shakily into them, trembling all over. He couldn't do more. She was going to make him do more. But he couldn't plead out of it either. There was nothing at all he could do.

“Sans, sit up, dear.”

When Sans twitched his legs with little success, Muffet hoisted him up into a sitting position.

Now that he was facing her, he saw Muffet wrinkle her nose in distaste.

“Ugh. It stinks in here.”

Sans hadn't noticed. He suddenly felt even more disgusting. He hugged the guard's jacket tighter around himself.

“Let's get you off these filthy sheets.”

She lifted him and got his feet on the floor. Sans surprised himself when he was able to support his own weight.

“You must know the guards aren't screened like clients are. I'll have to get you tested all over again...didn't even use a condom...”

Sans finally spoke.

“But he's...I mean, he's flesh and mine's magic, so I figured it didn't...”

Muffet only sighed heavily. Was he wrong? His sex ed had been somewhat lacking, and since he'd never really thought he'd have a partner, it was just never something he'd bothered to investigate thoroughly. The sour taste of his own stupidity mixed in with the many flavors of shame he felt now.

“Why didn't you tell anyone, dear. It's not like he was very good at covering tracks. I was going to notice eventually.”

Sans didn't answer. Muffet's irritation grew.

“Honestly, how could you let a guard keep having sex with you and not think to do a thing?”

Sans snapped. He exaggeratedly pat the jacket's pockets, then threw his arms out.

“What's this? Oh! I guess I forgot to bring my 'get out of fuck free' card! Stupid me!”

He waved a hand in the air, like he was searching for words.

“And what else? Right, that time you said 'nothing happens here without me knowing'? I wonder where I could've gotten the crazy idea that maybe, just maybe, you were letting this happen on purpose! Nice job vetting your employees, by the way, real winners you've got here.”

He raised his hands.

“But no, it's definitely all my fault. It's not like you f-f-fuckin trained me to...say yes to sex any time someone w-wanted it from me, not like I was d-doing exactly what you...what you...”

As he lost steam, he hugged his arms in, curling up where he stood. Muffet had made no reaction during his rant, her expression passive.

“Are you done, dear?”

Sans gripped his sleeves and stared down the floor.

“...y...yeah...”

Sans' anger quickly melted down into frustrated resignation, then cold fear.

“Get on your knees.”

Sans did. He shook, his voice much quieter.

“How could you...d-do this to me? You're r-really going to punish me for...for being _helpless?_ ”

“I'm punishing you for mouthing off, Sans, you know that. Don't be willfully obtuse.”

Muffet called Sans' soul forward. He looked at the floor.

A harsh jolt zipped through him. He fell forward on all fours. Muffet never shocked him very hard when she punished him, but tears were already starting to burn in his eyes, his vision blurring. He clenched his hands into fists and closed his eyes, some wetness streaking down his face.

“...I said yes...”

“What's that, dear?”

Sans started to crumple further down. He didn't know if he was going to be shocked again or not.

“I said yes to him. I let him do it. I let him fuck me.”

He looked up at Muffet, pulling his sleeves in like he was trying to keep himself intact.

“I let him d-d-do whatever he wanted, I...what do you even expect from me? That's the only thing I can d-do anymo-o-ore...”

Muffet got on her knees in front of him and took Sans into her arms. He grasped at her back.

“I let him...I let him do it...”

 

 

The human was looking anxious as they chewed through a muffin down to the paper, accidentally tearing some off with their teeth. When they asked Sans what had happened to him recently, they were most arrested by the news that Papyrus was no longer in the dark.

“It all turned out all right then, didn't it? You're glad he knows?”

Sans sat back against the wall.

“Yeah...actually...it does feel kinda nice that he knows where I am, at least.”

“And you wouldn't be...mad if someone had set it up so you two saw each other?”

“Nah, I hate their fuckin' guts. But it takes too much energy to be revenge-driven, you know? At least everything's not totally fucked.”

“...o-oh.”

Sans gave the human an almost sympathetic look.

“Look, I know you have some kinda tragic disease that makes you like everyone, kiddo, but no way am I gonna cover the dogs' butts if Asgore finds out what they did.”

“Uh...yeah.”

“'Schedule suddenly changed' my ass. Muffet probably knows they did it, too. She just never does anything about them for whatever reason. Got a lotta money as royal guardsmen, I guess.”

Frisk decided to change the subject.

“You should get your brother to come when I visit next time.”

“You're gonna have to wait to get your Snowdin Mystery Serial t-shirt signed, kid. He's gone to Waterfall for a while.”

Frisk gave a start.

“Why is he all the way in Waterfall? I thought you said he was staying in the city!”

“Well...yeah, he was for a couple days. But now he's gone for advanced training with the captain of the royal guard.”

Instead of looking impressed, the human only looked more upset.

“But how could he leave you _now?_ Didn't he want to stay around to look after you?”

Sans cringed at that.

“Look, kid. When you're an adult you gotta do your job, you can't just go wherever you want. The Boss has to look after his own shit. He's not my _guardian_.”

Frisk sat forward, eyes intense.

“But Papyrus isn't like that! He would never leave you when you're—”

A light glanced in their eye like a visible thought passing through.

“...don't tell me that you...”

Why did Sans feel guilty? He shouldn't be feeling guilty. Everything about this conversation was weird, and it was definitely the kid's fault.

“I may have, uh, skipped over some details. I had to save the situation somehow.”

“Sans, you mean he doesn't know that you're _being hurt?_ ”

Sans blanched. He hated hearing that kind of thing, but especially out of the little child's mouth it felt wrong.

“Well I mean...I've started getting used to stuff here...it's not...it's not the worst. It's not really, it's...it's not so bad as I was making it out to be, it feels embarrassing to think back to my first weeks here...”

Frisk was staring at him in disbelief.

“Oh my god. I should have let you leave that message. I should have asked why you didn't want to...”

“What?”

Frisk turned to Sans with tears in their eyes.

“Sans, you—!”

They grabbed Sans and beat their tiny fists on his chest.

“You IDIOT!”

They kept hitting him until they dissolved into hiccoughs and gasps, grasping at him with desperately clawing hands. Sans was too shocked to do anything but reach his arms around them and rub their back, unsure what he was supposed to be reassuring them about. They choked on their words.

“...you _idiot_...”

 

 

Sans paused in his approach to the table. He'd shown up late again, and had dutifully taken the tray for the dog's table, not bothering to fuss about it when he figured he knew how to handle them by now. But there were only three dogs at the table. Now not only Doggo, but Lesser Dog too was absent. The married couple shot Sans a deadly glare.

Loox smoothly took the tray from Sans.

“Hhhooow about I take that table tonight? No, don't martyr yourself, jeez, I'll be fine. Pretty sure they're only mad at you, anyway.”

They were still far enough away that the dogs couldn't reasonably be able to eavesdrop, but Sans leaned in and whispered regardless.

“What's going on?”

Sans expected Loox to say something worrisome, but Loox's face broke into a grin so broad and smug, Sans was surprised the top of his head didn't come off.

“Lesser Dog got suspended from the royal guard.”

“What? No way.”

“Yeah way. You know when the king was here for the show? Apparently he was investigating Lesser Dog's spending habits...and didn't like how much of his money was pouring in here. The king froze his accounts. He won't be visiting any time soon with that empty wallet...”

Sans couldn't quite decide on an emotion, but his body decided on a vindictive laugh from his gut. Then he covered his mouth and couldn't seem to stop snickering. Loox pat him on the back.

“You're a homewrecker, my friend. Be proud.”

Loox skipped off with the tray, and Sans went to find what he could do when he was stopped by the cricket worker.

“There's a client asking for you.”

That usually wasn't a good sign. Sans glanced around for familiar faces.

“Oh yeah? They have a name?”

The cricket showed him around the bar.

“I don't really know. Here, they're on the other side.” He pointed. “That one there.”

Across the room, Sans saw a thick, slimy monster with feelers instead of a face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [he's back](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1QwC-y3XMc&index=13&list=PLW0d1YesPHgfn3SlsPDRkr1z1hmt2IMcM)


	12. But don't you love me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold onto your hats. We're not at slug time yet. You'll know when we're at slug time. I will tell you.
> 
> Let's take a little break before the worst, shall we? 
> 
> [Here's the theme song for this chapter.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ygdVEIrVnIk&index=21&list=PLW0d1YesPHgfn3SlsPDRkr1z1hmt2IMcM)

The cricket took a concerned look at Sans' face.

“I know he looks gross, but he's not allowed to touch you in here, remember?”

No, this couldn't happen. Not even a small part of it. Sans shorted out.

The cricket gave him an understanding smile. The other workers were used to Sans' skittishness.

“Come on, I'll walk with you, okay?”

A hand on Sans' shoulder turned his legs back on, if not his head. He wasn't aware of moving, but the kitchen flashed by him, and next thing he knew he was rushing into an empty room and scrambling into a low cabinet, wildly trying to close himself in both quickly and silently.

He covered his mouth, but when he heard other monsters entering the room to look for him, his restraint crumbled. They must have heard him—there was a pause and a shuffling in his direction. When they opened the cabinet door and looked in, they found him scrabbling his feet to squeeze as far back as he could, clasping both hands over his mouth but unable to quiet the desperate whines.

More than one set of hands reached in for him. He twisted in their grasp, and before long the monsters were tugging only at his legs while his hands were clamped in a death-grip on the cabinet's inner shelving.

“Not him—not him _not him not him_ —”

A guard finally managed to wrench Sans' grip loose, and he was out in the open. He was surrounded mostly by confused workers. He was sure every monster in B Section had seen him freak out about this or that, but this was apparently a new level they couldn't understand. Sans was standing in the middle of the room in a circle of them, and he'd brought his balled fists up to his sockets, openly weeping in heaving breaths.

The monsters around him were citing assurances that didn't make any sense at all.

“It's just a drink. He just wants a drink with you.”

“We're all in the room with you, nothing's gonna happen.”

“He's not going to hurt you.”

What were they talking about? Didn't they know what that thing _was?_ It was the end of the world incarnate. It was what bad monsters met when they died. Having it force its way inside him even one more time in his life was unimaginable, but just having a drink with it would be enough to turn Sans into a brainless putty.

When the guard picked Sans up to drag him back to the lounge, Sans clawed ferally at his face, then kept summoning useless gaster blasters over and over until he fainted from exhaustion.

 

 

He woke up in Waterfall in Onion's chamber. He had been left in a pile at the door. Onion waited at the edge of the pool. Sans raised his head and shoulders from the ground shakily. His wrists were bound behind his back.

“You're in trouble again, Sans?”

Sans' voice was small. “yes.”

This was still better.

This was further away from where it was.

Despite what he was probably here for, Sans wanted to be closer to Onion, wanted to be wrapped up and protected. He got himself up clumsily, then walked to the edge of the pool as quickly as he could before Onion could prompt him.

Maybe being extra good could play in his favor.

When Sans came up to the edge, he looked down at the water, remembering the last time he was here.

“Do you want me to...?”

“Come to me.”

Sans sat down and swung his legs over the edge of the platform, scooting himself off the edge and into the water. This time, Onion let Sans fall in. He pushed Sans above the surface with a tentacle around his middle, but didn't restrain him any further than that. Sans' head was above water, but the rest of his body stayed submerged.

Sans thought he would be more afraid, but the water calmed him down a little. Instead of pure fear, he was filled with the pitiful desire for Onion to hold him like he had last time, to stroke him and bring him close. He shivered a little, swallowing down the urge to beg for comfort. He could try later. First he had to find out what he was here for. Onion hadn't punished him last time, but back then Sans had been ripped open. This time Sans hadn't been hurt, hadn't even had sex. He'd refused to so much as sit next to a client for a drink, had fought it literally tooth and nail.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Sans?”

Sans' breath hitched. He trembled, closing his eyes and breathing fast. He tried for a word.

“...gk”

A tentacle wrapped around his spine and squeezed gently in a rhythm. Onion had done it sometimes back in training, when he wanted Sans to breath steadily. He focused on the rhythm and breathed in and out, slowing to a steadier pace.

“Are you all right?”

Sans shook his head.

“...no.”

“Here...there we go...”

Tentacles were rolling on his back, nudging the back of his neck. Sans' gasp became happy whimpers.

“You saw him again.”

Sans choked. A tentacle squeezed over his shoulders gently. He swallowed.

“In the lounge. They w-wanted me to...but I..I d-d-didn't know if, after that, I'd...have to...”

He was too paralyzed to even ask the question. Not all the clients that workers took care of in the lounge also came back to...but he didn't know that. He didn't know that and he couldn't imagine the question coming out of his mouth.

Onion pet Sans' face with so much tenderness that Sans almost broke down again.

“You're really scared of him. I heard him break you—you called out for your papa.”

Sans involuntarily jerked in shock. He stared at Onion.

“No one was watching the live feed, but I did check the recordings after.”

Of course he'd watched. Everything was observed. There were recordings of all of Sans' worst moments. Even now, the camera up in the corner was capturing footage of Sans receiving comfort from his rapist. Sans remembered Mettaton joking on TV that you forgot about being public when the cameras were everywhere. Sans had thought he was always aware since coming to Red City, that he couldn't possibly forget a thing those cameras were picking up, but now he saw how true that was.

In spite of how that should have made Sans react, made him feel, he abruptly wanted nothing more than for Onion to fuck him ruthlessly hard. He was so tired of being terrorized. He just wanted to feel good.

Sans looked down at the water, legs squirming under the surface and face heating up.

He couldn't help it. It had been so long since Onion touched him like that. In fact, Onion hadn't touched him since the slug. Sans felt the absurd desire for reassurance that Onion didn't think he was disgusting. Of all the crazy things he wanted now, maybe even crazier than wanting to fuck to stop thinking about how broken he was from fucking, was Sans' fragile need for Onion to show that he still wanted him.

And Sans didn't know if Onion planned to punish him for his tantrum. Maybe he would still let Sans beg for sex instead...?

Sans gulped.

“Onion...c-could you...”

“Yes, Sans?”

That was Onion's 'good job' voice. Sans had made the right choice. He was doing okay. He wouldn't be punished if he acted properly now.

Sans spread his legs and formed a pussy for Onion to touch him. A tentacle obligingly slipped into Sans' pants and stroked at him. Sans sighed, allowing himself to relax in Onion's hold. He'd done _really_ right. Onion hadn't made him say it.

But maybe it was too early to celebrate that. The tentacle flicked over the lips of his pussy like the lick of a tongue. Sans pressed his hips forward, but the tentacle continued its light, teasing touches.

“h...ahh...haa...

The tentacle slid snugly between the folds of Sans' cunt, then sucked at his clit with its stickered tip. Sans' back arched.

Onion wanted him to ask for it after all. He could do that. He wanted this.

But...Sans couldn't help wanting a little more.

“d-do. Do you...do you want...?”

Onion looked surprised. He grinned, tentacles curling around Sans and giving a quick squeeze around his middle.

“Sans. Of _course_ I do. What I want to hear is that _you_ do.”

The suckers pulled on Sans again, making him pant. He was still trying to make sentences happen. He was tugged in close, and he felt something hard and hot press on his stomach under the water. Onion's member was twitching against his body.

Onion wanted him. He wanted him.

Warmth spread through Sans' groin. He pushed his hips forward, his words coming out in one breath.

“ _please fuck me_.”

Tentacles slithered up Sans' legs, one of them pushing harder against the lips of the cunt, finally reaching a more satisfying level of force and friction. Sans gripped the tentacle around his waist with shaking hands.

Hell, may as well go all the way.

“Um. W-with your...tongue...?”

Onion touched Sans' face. “Aw, that's right, I never did make you come with my tongue. I'll tell you what: I'll do it for you if you're really good.”

Sans barely whispered. “okay”

Onion reached back and snapped the handcuffs off of Sans' wrists. Then he dredged Sans out of the water and lowered him back onto the platform.

“Get down and lower your pants to your knees.”

Sans hurried to drop to his knees and start unbuttoning. Once undone, he let his pants fall to the floor, exposing himself.

A tentacle curled lightly around Sans' left wrist and guided it to Sans' sternum.

“Lift your shirt up to here.”

Sans raised his shirt, letting out a breath as Onion stroked his ribs.

Another tentacle closed around Sans' right wrist and nudged his hand between his legs.

“Now stroke here.”

Sans went stiff. In response, the tentacles felt like they were melting around him, getting gentler and softer to match Sans' growing anxiety. A tentacle reached up to cover Sans' eyes and close out the world.

“How's this? Better?”

“A...a little..”

Suckers stuck onto Sans' fingers and moved them to press into the lips of his cunt.

“Feel that. You're already wet.”

Sans cringed in embarrassment.

“...y...yeah...”

A tentacle tickled under his chin.

“That's good, Sans. That means that this is going to feel very nice, doesn't it?”

The tentacle drew the fingers in circular motions against the lips. Sans' hips jerked forward.

“...yes...”

“That's it. You can relax. Nothing we'll do is going to hurt you. You're only going to feel good.”

“o-okay.”

Sans started inserting his fingers in himself, but the tentacle tugged his hand up so his fingertips were brushing his clit.

“Start here first.”

Sans rubbed at himself in small circles. Tentacles sucked on the underside of his ribs. One tentacle wound around his spine, slithering back down and interrupting Sans' rhythm briefly.

Sans could practically hear Onion's mouth spread in a smile.

“How good is your dirty talk getting?”

Sans' hand slipped.

“Ah...! I'm...I mean...I d-dunno?”

Sans didn't need to see Onion to feel that look of eternal patience, which contradictorily got Sans moving back to rubbing himself, working up a pace so that his hips were rolling into his hand's movements.

“Start by describing what's happening to you.”

“Y-you know I'm not good at that.”

“You can go slow. One thing at a time.”

Onion grazed his tentacle back over Sans' busy hand.

“What am I making you do?”

“You're m-making me touch myself...”

“Anything else?”

“You're...you're watching me.”

“How does that make you feel?”

...how _did_ that make him feel?

The tentacle was still over his eyes, blocking his view, but Sans could feel Onion's huge eyes on him while he was like this. While Sans spread himself and got his body ready to be fucked, while his hips twitched into his hand with every motion. And again there was that twinge, that thrill from doing something obscene and being watched, from the humiliation. Hell. Maybe he _was_ a masochist.

Sans wasn't sure how to vocalize what he was feeling, exactly, but he did have an idea of what Onion was looking for.

“I...” but the embarrassment caught up to him, and Sans hung his head. The tentacle on his eyes stuck to him, following as his head bent down. A tentacle rubbed up his spine under his shirt. The motion was more consoling than sexual, but that only made it better. The cozy darkness, the tender touches, reminded Sans of being under hypnosis.

Sans tried to focus on his lack of sight—the dark gave the strange illusion of privacy, like Sans was working up this whole fantasy alone under the covers. He tried again.

 _Describe what's happening_. “I'm t-touching myself in front of you.” _More_. “I'm...g-getting really wet.” He slipped a finger into the hole, pushing in and out and demonstrating his words while he was at it. A bit of wetness squirted out around his finger. Sans bucked on his own hand.

“Ah—!”

 _How does that make you feel?_ “It feels good when you...watch me.” _It feels safe._ “I want...I want you to look at me while I p-play with myself...”

Sans squeaked when the tentacle was suddenly taken away from over his eyes, and he saw Onion's shocked expression sloppily transform into a goofy grin. Onion put a tentacle up to his own mouth almost like he was the one who was embarrassed.

Then Onion's gaze drooped heavily into half-lidded bedroom-eyes, his voice a little huskier than Sans had heard from him before.

“Turn around.”

The tentacles drew away from Sans and gave him enough space to shift around on his knees so his back faced Onion. Onion pressed on his spine, and Sans obediently hunched over until he was on all fours. Tentacles guided him further, positioning him so he rested forward on his elbows and forearms, his hips lifted high and his tailbone all the way up in the air.

Was Onion going to fuck him like this? Penetrate him from behind so Sans wouldn't be able to anticipate what was coming? Sans was shaking all over, and he couldn't tell if it was eagerness or if he was wracked with nerves. The slickness traveling down his thighs from his cunt suggested it might be a little of one if not a bit of both.

Onion took it upon himself to spread Sans' legs wider apart with a tentacle wrapped just above each knee, sliding Sans' knees just slightly across the floor. After a moment when nothing more was happening, Sans shifted so that he was looking upside-down through his spread legs at Onion's face. Onion noticed his stare and met his eyes like he was being pulled away from a close examination of an absorbing art piece.

“Hold on. I want to look at you a little while. I don't get to see you that often, you know.”

“D-don't tease me...”

“I'm not, I'm not.”

Onion spread the lips of Sans' cunt open with two tentacles, and his eyes sparkled.

“It's so small and cute!”

The color of Sans' face deepened several shades of red.

“Wh...wha...?”

“You really do have a sweet little pussy, don't you?”

Sans coughed out an embarrassed laugh.

“If you...don't say so yourself, huh?”

“Well, it's still your magic.” A tentacle cupped Sans' cheek. “And make no mistake, it looks good on you.”

A tentacle curled around the pubic mound, just barely tickling the outer lips with its tip. Onion's expression turned devilish.

“Now, what do you want me to do with this pretty hole?”

Strings of wetness were dangling lewdly from Sans' cunt, dripping onto the floor in a puddle. It was far too late to be coy.

“F-fuck me...fuck my pussy, please...”

Tentacles enveloped him and pulled him back in the water, holding his back against Onion's body. Onion tilted Sans' chin so he was looking over his shoulder at the octopus.

“Mm. Don't worry, Sans.” He purred in Sans' ear. “I know what your pussy likes...”

A tentacle slid inside and pumped into Sans, another tentacle covering Sans' clit with suckers and pounding on it. Sans yelped, his body writhing under the stimulation. The spike in pleasure was so intense it was almost too much. Almost.

“G-gh! I'm gonna—I'm gonna—”

“Oh! That's right.”

All at once, the stimulation stopped. Onion left the suckers on Sans' clit, but quit pressing on him. He pulled Sans above his head and held his legs open with his calves folded under, suspending him in a kneeling position. Onion stuck his tongue out playfully.

“You're being such a good boy, so I'll give you what you wanted.”

Sans supposed this was the moment when a 'good boy' would say thank you, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Heat spread over his face as Onion sat him on his mouth.

Just the feeling of the tongue lapping at his folds made him bend forward and moan. He rested his chest and face against Onion's head, gripping weakly with his knees. The tongue stroked him harder and his eyes fluttered. The texture of all those little bumps rubbing wetly against him got his whole lower body trembling. Finally, the tongue plunged into him.

Not long into the treatment, Sans lost all reserve. He let his own tongue hang out as the tongue inside him struck an especially sensitive area. It curled and pushed, licking deep inside. Sans made instinctive cries that sounded like the beginnings of yowling.

Onion pulled away slightly.

“Now Sans, I want you to ask m—”

 _I don't care I don't care_. “Please make me come.”

Sans felt rather than saw Onion's smile, the muscles of his mouth rubbing Sans' cunt as Onion pressed back into him. The tentacle sucked at his clit again as the tongue beat inside and gave the last firm jabs needed to bring Sans back to the edge. Tingling gathered tantalizingly at his groin, he needed just a little more—

“Haaa please, finish me, make me come, I'm so close—”

The tongue flicked hard inside, and the dam broke. Sans closed his eyes and shut off everything but that release. The orgasm felt like it splashed over him, his bones were dissolving like he was one of Alphys' amalgamates.

Instead of easing off, Onion pushed deeper, suckers kissing Sans' clit hard and making him come again immediately. Sans thrust onto him, fucking Onion's tongue with his tightening cunt with some messy sprays of fluid.

“A-ah...yes...! Yes...” his cries punctuated particularly powerful jolts of his climax. The tongue kept stroking him from the inside, folding in half as it reached up and hit a sweet spot over and over. As long as it lasted, the blissed-out feeling still reached a peak and started to fade. Onion withdrew his tongue.

But if this ended, Sans would have to think about—and he wasn't ready to—

“N-no, don't stop. Do me again.”

The command didn't seem to bother Onion at all. His smile only grew wider as he tipped Sans back and laid his member between Sans' legs. A tentacle under Sans' clothes slid down his spine, then curled around it and pumped it like a cock. Sans arched his back into the touch, his cunt rutting up against the member at the same time.

The member teased at the hole, first rubbing the length against it, then prodding into it without entering. Sans' legs kicked in anticipation. It pushed in slowly, but once inside it built up a pace that made Sans unreservedly vocal.

Sans remembered what Cecil said, about how Onion told them that...and for one moment, Sans let himself think that this was something different. That it was happening only because he asked for it, and not because the alternative was being tortured, or because he was terrified out of his mind and wanted comfort any way he could get it. That he wasn't just being played with like a toy, that he was being made to feel so good right now because he was actually loved—

Sans sobbed, and whether it was pleasure or something else he wasn't sure.

This time as Sans climaxed, a tentacle that was previously tending to a rib slid into his soul and gave a sensual roll. Sans' soul sparked and the orgasm felt like it had doubled. He gave an animal cry and his whole body shook, hips jerking desperately against the member inside him. When the feeling finally started to come down, his thighs were still trembling violently from the exertion. Sans was half-aware of being grateful that Onion hadn't pulled out yet, because he felt like his pelvis would collapse if he did.

“You're all tuckered out. You really went for it this time. That's good for you, but we've gotta give you a little rest now.”

The member pulled out gently, sparking some aftershocks of pleasure that the tentacle sucking his clit affectionately carried him through. But eventually that ended too.

Sans eyed Onion's still hard member with desperation.

“You—you haven't cum yet, will you—”

“It's fine, Sans, we don't have to keep going. I can take care of myself.”

“—will you please cum on me?”

Onion startled a little, then looked over Sans' dazed expression. He pet Sans' cheek.

“Sure, Sans.”

Sans spread his still trembling legs to give a target, and Onion stroked himself to completion. He didn't groan like most of Sans' clients, made little noise—but Sans felt heat radiate off him, and the jerking twitches of his member as he peaked were enough for Sans to know he was affected. Cum shot onto Sans and spilled over the bottom of his ribs, covering the lips of his cunt and dripping off his spread thighs.

Sans sighed and basked in the warmth for a moment, coming down from his euphoric high to settle into the satisfying feeling of being needed. But as comforted as he felt with the cum all over him, it hadn't sparked him back into action, merely acted as a nice closure. He was truly spent. Onion was softening too, lowering his member back underwater and massaging Sans' bones with the unmistakable gentle finality of aftercare. They were done.

No, no...if it stopped then he'd—he'd—

The crash hit him harder than he'd just cum. Sans covered his face with his hands, and Onion didn't restrain him from doing so. There was a silent moment between them. Sans breathed as evenly as he could into the clawed hands hiding his face.

“...why don't I hate you? I should hate you. I should hate you more than anything.”

“Wow, rude!”

Onion's expression was only playfully mad. He regarded Sans fondly.

“Of course you like me, Sans. I was your first time.”

….fuck.

Oh fuck.

When he put it like that, it sounded....

 

 

 

...really, truly awful.

 

 

 

 

 

Sans woke up still cradled in tentacles, all of his clothes removed. In spite of the damp, Onion's magic was keeping Sans warmly enveloped for an easy sleep. It made Sans wonder when exactly Onion slept. When Onion fed Sans some breakfast, it occurred to Sans to wonder when Onion ate, too. Perhaps he kept his own needs private as another means of demonstrating control. If that was it, it worked a little too well. It was like he was a monster with no needs at all, designed specifically to dominate other monsters that were so weak as to get hungry and tired.

After a peaceful lack of conversation for the morning, actions punctuated mostly by Onion humming errant tunes, it finally came to what Sans hadn't wanted to contemplate.

“You're getting picked up soon. Muffet will probably insist you apologize to the client when you get back.”

Sans had shoved it so far to the back of his mind, he'd practically forgotten. He hadn't been buying his way out of the client with sex; he'd only been buying his way out of punishment. Tentacles were already soothing over Sans' back, anticipating more panic. It didn't help. Sans wheezed a little.

“...do I....have to?”

Onion only gave Sans a stern look. It was a stupid question, after all. Onion didn't tell him things he didn't have to do.

“B-b-but you. You couldn't. Try to change M-Muffet's mind? You knew...you said y-you wouldn't of, that you w-wouldn't do it, back when I...when I f-first started, you said...you said you wouldn't have left m-me with him...you said...”

“Shh, Sans, it's only a drink.”

At that, Sans couldn't hold back a panicked jerk of his body. It was never just a drink. How could Onion lie to him like that? Before Sans knew it, all sorts of things he shouldn't try to say were pouring out of his mouth.

“Please help me onion, please d-don't let them do this to m-me, please”

Tentacles stroked Sans' neck, but he automatically cringed away. Onion's tone stayed soft.

“Sans, shh.”

“no. no onion no nonono...d-don't let it b-b-be like this, n-no...”

“He's not allowed to touch you in the lounge, you know that.”

Sans hiccoughed.

“Onion...you don't. You don't really think that's it? That that's all he's...here for, or even...all Muffet would make me...d-do?”

Sans dared a glance up to see if even a fraction of this was resonating, and was startled to be met with Onion's face darkened by anger.

Oh fuck. How could Sans have forgotten?

Onion could hurt him too.

Just because he'd gone easy on Sans sometimes didn't mean he was harmless, that Sans could talk to him carelessly.

Even as fresh tears slid down Sans' face from his renewed fear, from shame, he rolled his hips against a tentacle and looked at Onion with what he prayed was an eager smile, but was probably just desperate. Good enough.

“P-please fuck me again, Onion. D-don't...hurt me. Please f-fuck me in...instead.”

Onion rubbed Sans' shoulders.

“That's a good boy, Sans. But you're done. You did a very good job already.”

“N-no, fuck me, fuck me please—”

But as he encouraged the tentacle to press between his legs, Sans trembled hard, breathing coming tighter. A sob stuck in his throat, making it swell so he couldn't speak anymore. When a testing nudge of the tentacle pulled a miserable whimper out of Sans, Onion immediately stopped playing with him, instead curling the tentacle around Sans' knees and closing his legs.

Onion held Sans closer, looking somewhere over Sans' shoulder. He still looked angry. Maybe it hadn't been directed at Sans?

“Even if Muffet lets him have you, you're not giving yourself enough credit. You've gotten experience. You _can_ do this. I don't think you realize quite how good you've gotten since then.” He pulled Sans back a bit so he could look up at Onion's face. The octopus' eyes had an affectionate shimmer. “You'll make that thing putty in your hands if you're not careful.”

Sans couldn't take any solace in Onion's encouragement.

“But it...”

His body went limp, his pupils tiny pinpricks, shrunken against the overwhelming onslaught of inevitability, disbelief, betrayal. His voice was barely above a squeak.

“... _it hurt me_...”

“No one's going to abandon you this time, you'll be at Red City. Muffet will be there to protect you.”

“B-but. But she won't...j-just sex hurt. It. Onion, it. It hurt so m-much.”

Onion repeated.

“She'll be there to protect you.”

“Please i'm scared. I'm so scared, I—Onion, don't you—”

And again Sans found himself thinking about Cecil's warning about Onion. But the effect of the revelation was probably the opposite of what Cecil would have hoped for. Sans felt a sick longing.

“D-don't you...?”

But that didn't mean he could say it out loud. He hung his head.

“...how could you do this to me?”

Tentacles squeezed around him. Maybe a threat for him to stop, but Sans would vastly prefer any of Onion's punishments over going back to Red City right now.

“How could you let this happen? Would you...really let her d-do this to me?”

“Sans!”

Muffet's voice. Sans' soul nearly jumped out of his chest.

Sans looked down at the platform to see Muffet tapping her feet.

“I come expecting you to be settled down, and here you are tormenting poor Onion.”

Tormenting Onion...?

Sans glanced at Onion. He was avoiding Sans' gaze, squeezing his grip around him tighter. One of Muffet's past disciplinary sessions with Sans came back to him suddenly, when Sans had made the mistake of calling for Onion in Muffet's hearing. He vividly called back her spitting words.

_He lives in a tank._

That was all there was to it.

Sans was lowered to the platform, Muffet taking freshly cleaned clothes out of her bag for him. Sans moved toward her automatically, but was held back. One of Onion's tentacles was still sticking to his shoulder blade.

When Muffet made an impatient 'tsk,' Sans yanked himself forward harder. Something told him he needed to not be a cause of friction between the two of them, or else he might not survive what was coming. The tentacle released him with a soft pop, and Sans didn't look back towards Onion as he allowed Muffet to dress him.

He didn't look at Onion even one more time as Muffet led him out of the chamber, but when they were walking away Sans thought he heard the small pop of a tentacle from the floor beneath his feet, as though Onion had made a last reach for him.

 

 

“You're going to service the slug.”

Muffet's words came like a punch to the gut. In spite of his pessimism, his insistence to Onion that a drinking session wouldn't be the end of it, Sans hadn't managed to prepare himself for reality to hit him so hard. They both stood in his room in Red City, the door mercifully closed to hide Sans' imminent meltdown.

He didn't know exactly how he ended up grinding his pussy on Muffet's leg, trailing light kisses up her neck, but being pulled away by the shoulders didn't come entirely as a surprise. Muffet chuckled sweetly, patting Sans on the head.

“Sans, dear, you can't bribe me with sex. I own a brothel.”

Sans' hands remained in a locked grip on Muffet's arms, like letting go meant breaking a contract. Inviting fate. He resorted to taking one of her hands and licking the palm, and Muffet stopped discouraging his attentions.

“Muffet please I can take more clients, I can do anyone you want me to, please give me another chance, I—I've b-been better, haven't I? I can be good I can be really good I w-won't...”

He paused his efforts, his face scrunching up with inner pain and his hand shaking as it held Muffet's slender fingers spread.

“...I won't complain...”

Muffet's fingers curled over Sans' clasping hands. One of her other hands reached around him to stroke his lower back. Sans took two of Muffet's fingers in his mouth and sucked on them, pulling them out, but letting his tongue linger.

“Dear...”

Muffet reached her wet hand down and slipped it into Sans' pants. Sans tried to cover a fearful cry with a cough. The whole world was upside down, because Muffet was letting up on him too, removing her hand from his pants and rubbing his waist at his signs of distress.

“...what exactly do you hope to accomplish here?”

Sans clenched his fists into the fabric ruffling at the waistline of Muffet's dress. He pressed his face into her chest.

“God, Muffet, isn't it obvious i'm fucking begging you for mercy?”

Muffet stroked his head.

“You don't get to negotiate your job, sweetie.” But for once, Muffet didn't sound like she was admonishing him. If this were the first day he'd met her, he might mistake her for kind.

“M-muffet, I...i'm n-not trying to argue with you. It's...not even that I w-won't, it's, please im not trying to disobey you, I. _I can't_. I really—I'd just shut d-down. I can't d-do it, please, _please believe me_.”

Muffet kept rubbing her thumbs on Sans' waist, speaking into the top of his head with his face tucked under her chin.

“Sans, I think there's something you're misunderstanding. It doesn't really matter to him whether you're cooperative or not.”

Sans felt ice slide through his soul. He was struck dumb.

“Let me put it this way, dear. You can walk yourself to your appointment like you're supposed to, or you can wake up in the room with him, and at that point, honestly, it won't make a difference if you're combative. He'll manage to get what he wants from you.”

Muffet danced her fingers under Sans' chin, making him look up at her.

“I'll let you choose which it will be.”

Sans shuddered. He still couldn't speak. Something slimy had glued his jaws shut. Muffet had let go of him, was leaving the room, but he had to answer her or else—

“I'll walk.”

Sans' voice came out in a breathy croak, but he managed it before Muffet shut the door. He hoped to god she heard him, please god let her have heard him, he couldn't take it otherwise, could barely take it like this.

Remembering the mics bugging the room, Sans whispered a few more times for good measure. She had to know.

“I'll w-walk. Please, I'll...”

He huddled on the floor, whimpering quietly into his knees.

“I'll walk, please, please, I'll walk. Please.”

 

 

He'd overslept. He'd fucking overslept, of all the days—

When Muffet came into his room as he was only halfway through dressing, Sans practically slid onto his knees in front of her and clung to her legs.

“I was on my way, I'm s-sorry, I just d-d-didn't wake up, I was g-gonna—!”

Muffet's hands were all over his back, circling his shoulder blades.

“Shh, you're not late to anything, Sans. I let you sleep in today. I'm sorry it didn't calm you down.”

Sans panted unevenly, his eyes still wide in panic. He had trouble grasping the meaning of her words.

Muffet picked Sans up fully, sitting on his bed and placing him in her lap to massage him like she had before testing the heat drug on him. Sans almost felt betrayed that his brain was triggered back to that time, when his situation was finally strangely enjoyable. Against all reason, he relaxed into her, and the stark switch in modes almost made him pass out.

Muffet's musical voice whispered through his disorientation.

“You made a good choice, Sans. You're really being so good.”

When did those things start feeling good to hear. When did it stop being something that made him want to scream and throw a chair at the wall, and instead turn into something he wanted so badly.

Muffet ducked her face forward into the dip between Sans' neck and shoulder, brushing the flat of her fangs on him. He felt warm breath tickle him.

“There's my brave dear.”

Sans' breath caught. He was deep red from his collar to his forehead, and his cunt formed with immediate glowing heat.

He spun himself around and balanced crouched on her legs, throwing his arms around her neck.

“M-muffet, please, I'm not tired, I wanna—”

“This won't change anything, you know.”

“I know, I know, I...”

Sans' heavy breathing gave way to a grateful exhalation of air as Muffet's hand rubbed the outline of his cunt over the crotch of his pants. When he didn't react in panic, Muffet unbuttoned him and lowered his pants, then threw them on the floor.

Before she could put anything in him, Sans wrapped his arms tighter around her neck, grinding his hips against her waist. The lips of his cunt rubbed along her stomach, starting an effective friction that made the heat in his groin build and build. Muffet took hold of his hips, but instead of controlling him, she only used her grip to give him extra pushes—to help rock him harder against her. She leaned back for a better angle, too, using her other hands to stroke him all over.

She was letting him do this. She was _encouraging_ him. He grazed his mouth on her neck, mumbling into her.

“Ha...mn...ah...Muffet...I want you, I want—!”

One of Muffet's hands cupped the back of Sans' head, and she drew him into a deep kiss, her tongue sliding over his and licking the inside of his cheek. Sans' arousal skyrocketed, but his hips froze. A hand reached between where his groin was pressed to her abdomen, and her thumb flicked over his clit and rubbed it in circles. Sans' building heat burst with a jolt of his hips. His body felt paralyzed by release, his pelvis jerking stiffly into Muffet's hand, movement helplessly controlled by her stimulation.

Muffet didn't remove her mouth from his, so his pleasured whines melted into the kiss.

She slowly pulled back from him, and his mouth remained parted with his tongue still partially out, like he was reaching for her mouth to return. Sans' body went limp on top of her. He couldn't stop looking up at her with hazy warmth.

Muffet brought her lips back to Sans' mouth, but didn't close the distance, instead speaking onto him as though her words were a kiss.

“Such a wonderful job of it. You deserve this, sweetie. You deserve to feel good.”

“Ha-a...uhn...hn...ah...”

Muffet finally stopped rubbing him off with her thumb, moving to palm his clit along with his folds with the heel of her hand. His pussy shuddered with aching pleasure against her encouraging strokes.

“You deserve to be treated like the good boy you are. I don't want you fretting about a thing—I'll take care of you, we'll walk you there slow and easy, and I'll take good care of you when you're done. You're going to do just fine”

He couldn't help it.

It apparently didn't matter if it was real or not—and a dimmed, cynical part of him was sure it was fake—but it _felt_ real. It was so good, and so much. Her confidence in him, the steamy orgasm still drizzling through him with some tight flutters, the praise, the _kiss_.

And that was all it took for him to sell himself, body and soul.

He surrendered.

Sans' eyes closed lazily from the heady wash of afterglow. Muffet kissed the corner of his mouth.

“You can do this, can't you dear?”

“I can...I can do this.”

She'd somehow made him believe it.

 

 

After breakfast, Sans saw a message left on his phone that meant his brother had calculated the time of the call for Sans to miss it. Shit. That meant he had something sincere to say.

Sans had long since given up the idea of privacy in his own room here, so he went to one of the infrequently used corridors to listen to the message.

When he'd waited five minutes to make sure he didn't hear any footsteps near or far, he pressed play with some trepidation, and held the phone to his head.

 

**

I haven't been totally honest with you, brother.

**

 

That was an alarming start.

 

**

There's someone I didn't tell you about.

They've talked about you a lot. I think they've gone to see you. Maybe you know them already? About your height, brown hair, and very poor taste in clothing—still dresses like a child. Aside from that failing, though, they have encouraged me to speak more with you, and I have to admit I'm...I am grateful.

But listen, Sans. I don't think you should associate with them.

Perhaps you can tell that Muffet woman to turn them away at the door?

I know this sounds like vague advice from the usually eloquent and expertly specific Papyrus. The damnedest thing is that I just can't rationalize why, brother. They've been nothing but helpful to me...kind, even. I would go so far as to call them a friend. And I can't think of a single reasonable explanation to tell you not to talk to them.

The only things I have that I could tell you are...strange.

The first time I met them, I took one look at them and felt this overwhelming sense of guilt, as though I'd done something terrible to them. And I felt dizzy...like I was being hypnotized.

But under that guilt, buried deep underneath, there was something else. Something insistent, like instinct, intuition—a flash of something I recognize, but disappears before I can put a name to it. Like I've met them before. And whatever that thing is—

I don't trust them.

I suppose I've felt like this for a while, but I pushed it down because it didn't make sense. And I never felt the need to warn you about it until...I got that feeling again, when I looked at my phone just now. I could have _sworn_ , would have bet _anything_ that I just heard it ring. Even that I got so far as answering and talking.

I would lose that bet, apparently, because there's no record of a call on it.

But you know how impeccable my memory is, Sans. It's not like me at all to mistake something like that.

And I was so sure—

...anyways, I'm sure this all sounds like madness to you. I trust you won't tell anyone that the Great Papyrus is losing it. I don't want to start hearing snarky remarks being said of me from strangers.

_A long pause._

...after all, I would hate to take that exclusive privilege from you.

Goodbye.

**

 

Sans took the phone away from his face and stared at it. Papyrus had to be talking about Frisk. But what did all of those other things mean? Sans implicitly trusted the Boss' intuition, but it was as though even Papyrus didn't believe what he was saying. Why would he still call them a friend if he didn't trust them to talk to Sans...?

Sans thought the mystery would persist, but it only took until the early evening to get some solid evidence for Papryus' bad feeling.

 

 

A few hours before Sans' appointment, he travelled restlessly around the halls, unable to settle in any one area. His wandering led him to a hall he hadn't explored before, and to familiar voices around the corner.

Frisk.

And Dogamy.

Sans froze against the wall out of their view, listening hard and barely daring to breathe. Frisk's usually childlike speech had taken a different tone. Although it didn't entirely make up for their naturally high voice, they spoke in a purposeful lower pitch, their intonations harder and coarser.

“Beat it already, I told you we can't meet here.”

“Can't seem to find you hanging around anywhere else, and we need you. Come on, work some of your magic again, he listened to you before—”

“It's not—it's not 'magic.' I told you he hardly listens to what I say. Even my best influence just gets him to do things he would've done if he'd thought of them himself.”

“You're selling yourself short, shortstack. You're the only one who could get him to think Papyrus coming here was a good idea.”

“He wanted to test his loyalty. See if meeting his brother like this would make him rebel.”

“You think any of us could've suggested that and kept our heads? There's gotta be something—”

“There's no good spin for this, Dogamy. L.D. was doing _exactly_ what Papyrus got in trouble for in the first place. I tried to warn him, but he did what he wanted to do.”

“You saying this is L.D.'s fault?!”

“Well...”

There was a slam on the wall, like Dogamy had slapped a paw on it. Sans jumped, suddenly deathly afraid that the kid was in trouble, and sickly wondering if he should still care.

But he didn't hear any attack. Just growling, and then a snort.

“Whatever. I know how this works. Not like I can really threaten the king's heir.”

“I'm not—”

“Guess you weren't as good a friend as we thought.”

Sans heard bounding, and for a soul-stopping moment it occurred to him to be afraid that the dog would come his way, but the footfall lessened in volume. Dogamy had left by the opposite hall.

But Frisk rounded the corner and locked eyes with Sans, their expression of shock at seeing him probably matching his at being found out.

Their eyes glowed bright, energy whirling off them, and Sans fell back a step. He held his hands up in front of him.

“...don't kill me.”

Frisk's face filled with deep heartache, and the air sparked.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

A few hours before Sans' appointment, he travelled restlessly around the halls, unable to settle in any one area. His wandering led him to a hall he hadn't explored before, and to an empty corridor around the corner.

How boring.

 

 

“You're sure you don't want me to walk with you, dear?”

“Yeah, I...I wanna go alone.”

He didn't, but if Muffet walked him there he would probably hold onto her at the door and not let go. Best not to give himself any reasons to get punished.

The hallway to the private room was so lonely. It was like the area was evacuated.

Abandoned.

Sans recalled too vividly the foul smell of the rotten egg street, and he had to cover his mouth and lean against the wall for a moment.

The hall was empty because workers didn't use this area as often, he reminded himself. The halls were built taller, more rock had been painstakingly cut away from the walls because the hall was made for

...customers that were bigger than the usual fare.

Sans paused in front of the door. His knees were quaking. He just had to open the door. Step one, raise arm. Step two, put hand on door handle. Now turn the door handle.

Turn it.

The handle rattled in his grip as he slipped down to his knees, ending up hanging from the handle like he was over the edge of a cliff. He gave a few wet hiccoughs.

Someone please save him please save him _please save him_

Okay, get up.

He got back to his feet.

Go in.

He shakily opened the door.

And he went in.

And the slug had him.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Sans halted at the door and touched the handle—

Frisk stopped Sans before he opened the door.

Sans whipped his head around to face them.

“Kid, w-what are—how are you—”

“Never mind; don't go in there.”

“I uh...I have to. It's complicated. Adult life is basically doing the most heinous things imaginable on repeat like it's some kind of fucking worst-of MTT reruns, shit sucks, never grow up kiddo.”

“You don't have to do this and you're not going to.”

Frisk grabbed Sans by the hand and dragged him away from the door. They led him down the corridor so fast, it felt like they were flying.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Frisk stopped Sans before he opened the door.

“Kid, w-what are—how are you—”

“Don't go in there.”

“I uh...I have to. It's complicated. Adult life is basically—”

“—doing the most haymous things imaginable on repeat like it's some kind of frogging worst-of MTT reruns, snot sucks, never grow up kiddo.”

“Did you hear me say that already? Did you fucking...replace all my cussing?…..did you say 'haymous?'”

Frisk shyly rubbed their arm. “I didn't know the word you used.”

“Heinous. It means bad.”

“Oh.”

“Kid, are you a fucking time traveler?”

The human looked at the floor and nodded. They looked repentant, but Sans felt the beginnings of the first thing that resembled hope since he'd been stuck here.

“But that's...that's great! That can really get you out of trouble, can't it?”

The child still looked uncomfortable. “It can help...some things. Sometimes.”

“That means you can basically escape anything, though, right? You can see it all coming. You can—”

“Oh Sans!” Tears poured down Frisk's face. Sans froze. The child wailed and spoke at the same time, wiping their face continuously. “I-i-it can help _me_ , sure, but I h-haven't figured out how t-to really save you yet. You kept telling m-me it was okay that way, b-but it's, it's not, it's not okay! I d-don't want to do that again! It's so horrible, Sans!”

Sans went cold.

“Nothing I do...w-works!”

They stomped their foot. They looked more like a child than he'd ever seen them.

“It's...no matter what other choice I make...the time when I d-do nothing was the only one where...”

They sat on the floor and huddled their knees to their chest.

“I even tried g-going in once, to protect you, but...”

They looked distant.

“...it didn't work.”

Sans remembered Papyrus' warning, but when faced with this, all he wanted to do was comfort the crying human. Not that he knew how. Not that he knew what to do at all. Just the implication of their words was terrifying him into paralysis. He stretched his mouth in what he hoped was close to a reassuring smile and wasn't an absurd grimace.

“Sweetheart, don't worry about me, okay? Don't go in there. Definitely don't go in there, ever. Uh...ever again.”

The human's sobbing had quieted down.

“I-I...I might have to go back. I don't...I don't have anything else. But that time, you wouldn't...let me near you, and after that I heard you went to Onion, and that you asked him to...to...”

“...wait, 'go back'? Kid, you don't mean...all of this, talking to me now, you're not gonna—”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Sans paused in front of the door. He had an odd feeling, like the opposite of deja-vu. Like something else was supposed to happen right now, like someone was going to rush in and save him at the last second. But things like that didn't happen.

He shakily opened the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To tie into this chapter, here's a comic depicting the [phone call between Frisk and Papyrus](http://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/post/152844008564/phone-call-a-short-comic-taking-place-in).
> 
> Sorry for the long wait this time. If you're here, thanks for stickin around! I appreciate u. You, specifically.
> 
> Come join me for more sinful times and egg times between the wait for chapters, over at my tumblr:  
> http://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/


	13. Vertical chamber apparatus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, my friend. If you're reading this in the future, you are either very lucky or very unlucky to skip the wait from the previous chapter to this.
> 
> For all the time and tears and love and hate and blood sacrifice that went into this relatively short chapter, I have just one thing to say about it:
> 
> Don't read this.
> 
> Warnings and summary (for those who want to skip the chapter, or decide whether to skip) in the end note.

Sans took one shaky step into the dimly lit room. He didn't see the slug at first, and had a brief, crazy thought that this was all some joke, some incredibly cruel prank on Muffet's part to get him to behave better, and get a video of some juicy reactions she could chuckle over later as a bonus.

A snotty tendril dripped onto the floor. Sans looked up.

The slug was on the ceiling.

A trail of mucous shimmered from where the slug was hanging to where ceiling met wall, and now Sans noticed that the walls were shimmering as well—the slug had coated nearly every surface of the room in its slime.

The slug was somehow bigger than he remembered, or the room was smaller than expected—the slug's amorphous body covered an alarming percentage of the ceiling. Dark shapes moved under the surface of its skin, oily globs in a murky pool hovering above.

The writhing wormy feelers on its head abruptly clamped together and moved as one to turn and face the shadow of the door, where Sans' comparatively tiny form was hunched.

Sans let out a long whimper and fell back towards the door, trembling. When his body made contact with the door, he heard the lock mechanism click, like the final tick of a time bomb before the end.

Sans jolted at the noise, abandoning reason and turning his back to the slug to put his hands on the door. The creature was absurd, so it made just as much sense for absurd laws to come into play: if he wasn't looking at it, if he stayed tightly wrapped under the covers, if he didn't open the closet door and look in on the darkness, it wouldn't...

How could he possibly do this?

Sans felt crawling on his hands. The surface of the door was sticky, and slime was running through his fingers and over his wrist bones, clinging between gaps. Sans almost lost the balance of his feet; he could already feel tears tightening his throat, forcing him to whisper.

“Muffet, Muffet please, don't make me. Not this, let me out, please.”

Something tickled the back of Sans' neck, making his knees give way. His hands were still stuck to the door, pulling his arms up over his head even as his feet slipped out from under him.

“I said I'd be good but I can't. I can't be good, I can't do this, d-don't let this...happen...to me...please...”

There was a wet plop from behind. Sans turned his head to see the slug landed on the floor on its side, and a slow, suspended rain of mucous trailing after it.

If only he'd kept facing the door, he might have been able to pretend the slug out of existence.

It lurched toward him. Somehow, he had to escape this. Sans yanked at his hands, pulling them out of the sludge on the door, and fell over to his hands and knees. He started on a crawl to the other corner of the room, but it felt like he wasn't getting anywhere. All of his limbs were heavy, moving like he was underwater, the other side getting further away instead of closer the faster he tried to go.

Feelers wrapped around his ankles and dragged him upside-down, the slug's tail curling around to catch his head and cushion his fall.

He'd actually made plans. Treat the slug like his other clients, fake it til he made it, and try to take initiative, because most times that made things go less painfully. If he could manage to act like he was seducing them, his clients usually got too into it to pause and think about punishing him. After all, if Sans was already begging to be pleasured, rutting on them eagerly, it would be too much of a waste to change tack.

It had taken Sans about this long to realize that the last rule he'd been given in training, to beg for more but never beg them to stop, had been the most merciful thing Onion had tried to drill into him.

The slug stretched upright, and Sans stretched with it, his back stuck to the slug's body with slime. The horrible member, with its umbrella-shaped cap lined with hooks, poked out of the slug's lower body and sat between Sans' legs to rub against his crotch.

Sans couldn't beg for this.

He gave a full-bodied shudder, a miserable cry coming out of his mouth. The slug rubbed back and forth on him, and Sans felt the shaft of the member sliding against the lips of his pussy through his pants. He hadn't made any special effort to summon it, but his magic had already formed without him realizing it, probably triggered by the familiar abuse. Apparently even the threat of pain was no longer enough to stop it.

Feelers tugged at his pants. Sans whimpered again, each noise that came out of him after that choked and uneven. It was going to do it. Right now. It was going to rape him like this, the same position as last time, over and over until he passed out, and that's when it would start to hurt even more. Because Sans would wake up with it already working on him again, exacerbating the previous torture. Paralysis spread through Sans' body like a sluggish venom.

The slug was pulling on the front of Sans' pants, harder now, and briefly stopping to pummel its feelers on Sans' groin like tiny whips. Sans gasped, but couldn't move his hips one way or another. Why was it taking so long. Why was it drawing this part out.

The feelers gave another hard tug on the waist of Sans' pants, then the slug bent itself in half, stretching its head down to meet Sans'. Sans made desperate wet murmuring noises, not sure how to handle the feelers approaching his mouth. His eyes were roaming over everything without looking at anything, unable to focus or take anything in. He barely noticed something waving in his face.

The slug knocked something against Sans' skull insistently, then shoved it in front of Sans' eyes. It took a moment for Sans to become aware enough to send the information his eyes were receiving up to his brain.

The slug was holding a cell phone screen up to Sans' face, and the text on the screen read:

' _PANTS OFF_ '

Sans almost responded out loud, but only a hiccough came out.

The slug beat Sans over the head again, and Sans cringed into himself as much as his position allowed.

“I—gk...you want...?”

The feelers shook the cell phone with more vigor. Sans reached his hands up, slowly, like they were being held back by invisible ropes, and fumbled with the buttons of his pants. With much shaking, he somehow managed to get his hands into the automatic pattern of unbuttoning. The slug impatiently yanked the undone pants up until they were scrunched at Sans' knees.

The member rubbed at the lips of his cunt, and this time he felt it directly, its skin on his magic.

“Ugck—hk—!”

Sans reached his hands up again, but he didn't know what he was reaching for.

“...nuh...nuh...nuh-ohh...d-d-d. Ssst—ugk—”

As the member slid back and forth, Sans felt the hooks brushing on his pussy, like the tiny grasping legs of a spider. His abdomen convulsed in panic, and watery, sobbing words came out his mouth before he could think.

“Please don't f-fuck me!”

The slug paused. Was it...

Looking at him?

No...oh no.

He wasn't allowed to say that. He was never supposed to say that.

Sans' soul contracted in terror.

“I d-...” he gasped, automatically trying to close his legs, then forcing himself to keep them spread. As if the submissive gesture mattered. He couldn't do anything with the dick between them. “I d-didn't...I d-d-didn't mean...I'm...”

But he couldn't even finish taking it back. It was the one thing he wanted more than anything right now. His whole body tensed, and he shut his eyes tight, tears leaking continually down his face.

“ _oh my god please_ ”

The dick rubbed on him again, slime dripping over the lips of his pussy. Sans coughed out another sob. Now that he'd started, he couldn't seem to shut himself up.

“please this...hurt so m-much please don't hurt me, I can, I can do whatever, I could—please it's g-gonna hurt _it's gonna hurt please_ ”

He was dropped onto the floor. He opened his eyes, and the slug was squirming around him, its dick retreated back into its abdomen. It couldn't be...it had listened to him?

Sans got himself up onto his knees, gripping his own arms tight like he was reassuring himself that he was still whole. The slug stopped in front of him, raising its tail to touch under Sans' chin, tilting it up. The gesture was familiar.

Did it want him to keep pleading?

Sans hunched his shoulders, but couldn't bend forward with the tail lifting his head. He took the less desirable option of looking at the slug head on. Its size overwhelmed him, bearing down on him like the approach of an insurmountable wave. Sans didn't need to fake his petrified gaze.

“Please...go easy on me. I. I-it hurt so...much last time, please I. I'm really s-scared.”

The tail pet Sans' cheek, then dropped.

Sans shivered there on his knees. The slug was squirming over to a basket on the floor in a corner, ducking its head to reach its feelers in. What would happen now? It wouldn't really stop. It wasn't going to let him go.

The slug came back with something tangled in its feelers. With its tail, it pushed Sans in a sit against the wall, his legs spread out in front of him. Sans allowed himself to be shoved with no resistance. It should have been because he was being obedient, but it was really because there was a tingling numbness running through his body.

The feelers came close to Sans to put something around his neck. Sans' hands reached up jerkily to feel over the object. It was a strap with hard chunks of metal on either end, like an undone collar.

If the feelers didn't have the dexterity to undo pants, they probably couldn't fasten a collar. Sans made to attach it himself, feeling for the ends without taking his eyes off the slug.

The slug dipped its head toward him again, feelers running over the metal pieces like they were kissing it. Sans' hands froze as he felt mucous drip over his fingers. Suddenly, there was an irresistible pull backwards that trapped his neck against the wall. Sans leaned forward slightly, and he was met with a magnetic resistance from the collar. The metallic ends, now covered in a layer of goop, had apparently been attracted to the wall.

Sans' fingers curled lightly over the top of the collar. He'd thought it might be some kind of statement, just a fetish accessory, but it was a restraint.

Sans started trembling harder, looking up at the slug. It closed in on him.

Something was poking out of the slug's thick neck over its head. There was a whoosh past Sans' temple, and a splat. In his peripheral vision, he saw a long, sharp dart, now embedded in the wall right next to his head.

Had. Had the slug meant to pierce him with that?

Sans' eyes snapped back to the slug.

“No please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I tried to run, I'm sorry I asked you not to, I was—s-scared, please don't please d-don't—!”

The slug's head lurched forward, locking onto Sans' face with its feelers. Another dart started to peek out from the head, the feelers steadying Sans' trapped face so that the dart aimed straight at the center of his left eye socket.

With his mouth gripped tight in the feelers, Sans couldn't yell or plead, but a high keening noise came out of him and vibrated the thin air between them. The slug's head punched forward.

The second the dart penetrated Sans' eye, his body convulsed in a huge spike of pleasure. The slug and the collar kept his head pinned, but the rest of Sans reacted, flailing around. His hips bucked up, his pussy squirting in climax. The slug held him trapped like that for a moment, then eased away from him.

Sans collapsed limp against the wall, feeling the dart begin to dissolve into the magic swirling around his socket. The substance mixing into his magic caused a few more spasms of ecstasy before Sans' body was too tired to display pleasure.

“I'm...oh-h...” Sans belatedly and dizzily attempted to announce his orgasm.

The arousal dissipated, and then Sans was left with only the hot, weak feeling, like he had a low-grade fever. An icy sweat was already gathering to run down his spine, the strength draining out of his bones in syrupy drizzles.

“I d-don't...feel good...”

The dark form shifted in front of him. Sans looked up blearily, his vision clearing enough for the color and size of the slug to come through, but not the depth. It was holding a glowing square in front of Sans' face that Sans took a moment to register as the cell phone screen. Sans raised his hands to hold it and bring it in front of his right eye.

Sans shook so hard he dropped the phone, then scrambled his hand around to try to pick it back up, tears burning the corners of his eyes. The collar strapping his neck to the wall prevented him from looking down at it, and he only managed to brush against it and knock it away.

Half-blinded and terrified, he couldn't put together what he'd seen. He didn't get it. He didn't get it, he wasn't going to get a break, just because he didn't understand—

“Wh-what are...what are you asking for? I—I'm s-sorry, I—”

The slug snatched the phone up and typed more, painstakingly slowly, then showed it to Sans again.

' _TUCH URSELF_ '

“O...oh. Yeah I. Yeah, of c-course”

Sans hurriedly spread his legs out more, lowering one hand to open the lips of his pussy so the slug could watch. There was a coughing, gagging sort of noise, and a lumpy ooze splattered onto the exposed cunt. Sans shivered hard and looked up.

The slug was drooling something from out of its feelers, sticky tendrils still dripping onto Sans as he watched. Sans' body locked up, and he kept staring at the slug, the goop on his crotch cold and unpleasant.

The slug showed Sans the phone screen again. It still said ' _TUCH URSELF_ '

“With...with this on...?”

The slug made a nodding motion.

Sans hesitated for a second longer before stretching the lips open wider, feeling over his pussy with his other hand. He dragged his fingers up and down over the lips, grazing a finger down to swirl around the opening. It was still slick and dripping from the orgasm the dart had induced, now even wetter with whatever the slug had expelled on him. Sans hoped his tremors of disgust could be taken for arousal.

He used some of the slick to rub over his clit, raising his hips so his cunt pressed into his finger with each motion. He wasn't managing to excite himself, but his body was getting hotter, sweat prickling over more of his bones and making him shiver.

How long would the slug expect him to do this? He glanced up. It hadn't gotten closer, but it was writhing around in excitement, the capped member just starting to poke out of its midsection again. Sans had to force back a sob and keep rubbing himself.

He slid his finger down to dip into the hole, pushing in and out and slowly rocking on the finger with his pelvis. Some of the slug's expulsion slid inside him too, an awful, chunky texture that made him gag and yank his finger out. He tried to get moving again, but a tight-mouthed whimper from the back of his throat turned into a wet cry, and tears were already falling fast again.

The tail whipped toward him, batting the collar easily off Sans' neck as if nothing had been holding it on. Then in a flash, Sans was grabbed, tossed up, and flipped onto his stomach. The slug repositioned Sans so his elbows were on the floor and his hips were up in the air. The feelers tugged his pelvis up, causing Sans' chin to hit the floor like a broken seesaw.

“A-! Wha-what're—”

The feelers dug into the opening of his cunt, stretching and squirming around the inside. Sans' words cut off with an airless squeak.

The slug grabbed Sans' thigh bones and stretched them out behind him so it could dig deeper, holding him like a wheelbarrow. More of the feelers slithered in.

“O-oh!” Sans' back arched at the feeling. It wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't completely horrific. “That feels g-good, that feels really good,” he said the words in one breath. Maybe if he kept saying them, he'd convince himself and get into the mood, too. “M-more, please more, it feels so good...”

The feelers stretched him, and something long and flexible poked in. It didn't feel at all like the slug's member. For one, it wasn't hurting him, and it was much thinner. Sans looked over his shoulder as best he could.

The slug still had its face buried in Sans' crotch, and didn't seem positioned to get its dick in there. Sans caught sight of a tube-like appendage coming from where the darts had shot out, running along the side of the slug's head and disappearing between Sans' legs. It was making pumping motions that pulsed on the slug's head like a giant, aggravated vein.

Sans faced his head forward and rested it on the floor, allowing himself to concentrate on the pumping inside him and let that feeling work him up, if it could. His body gave a fevered shiver. Sweat was dripping heavily over his eyes. He wiped at his forehead with the back of his arm, but it didn't feel like that helped at all. His sweat was oddly thick and ropy.

Sans was flipped onto his back, and the pumping inside him got faster. Was the slug trying to get Sans to cum? Unsure how long that might take, Sans did his best to simulate the response, clenching the artificial muscle and tightening his breath, then going stiff with a high whine. He bucked his hips a few times for good measure.

The slug actually seemed pleased with that. It was slowing, and it appeared to be reaching a real climax of some kind. Sans wasn't sure how many of the organs the slug had used on him were genitals. Was it the umbrella-shaped one? The feelers that expelled what Sans had taken for sludgey cum? Was it the long, grasping appendage in him now?

Was it all of them?

The thing inside him gave a spurt of release, then began pouring cum into Sans' cunt. It didn't feel like the way most monsters came—it was less like a squirt and more like a torrent, and it reminded Sans a bit of Woshua's hose, or the way the dogs would flood into him. That thought alone got a real gasp out of Sans, his eyes closing a little and his pelvis lifting up into the sensation.

Sans couldn't resist the intense wave of relief that broke over him. Maybe the slug could finish in him like this, without using the painful member at all, maybe he could be out of here soon.

Something was strange about the liquid flooding inside him, though. Instead of moving as one, some of it seemed intent on going in slightly different directions, pressing into the walls of the cunt as much as it was flushing to the back. Like the fluid itself was swimming.

A tiny squirt of it spat out from between the appendage and the opening of his cunt, about as much liquid as one of Sans' fingers.

Actually, it kept a shape like one of Sans' fingers.

When Sans squinted at it, it hadn't splattered on the floor, it was still nearly solid, tossing around like a—

Sans made a heaving motion before he registered what he was seeing. Then he was letting out sharp, punctuated screams of mortal terror, each one clenching in his gut with the force of it.

The slug yanked him closer—apparently Sans had tried kicking away in some split-second fugue—and Sans saw a flood of worms spill out from him. The spilled mess made an effort to return to darkness and warmth inside him, like salmon fighting upstream.

His shrieks came out several pitches higher than his normal voice, his legs jerking in fits, a toppled wind-up toy trying to walk.

“NO! NO! NOO! NO!”

He was pressed forcefully back onto the slug, and the renewed gush from its appendage came with the unwelcome knowledge of what was actually being put in him. The frenzied wriggling was so sickeningly obvious now. Sans let out a long wail of distress. The slug continued rolling into him to encourage the emission deeper, but it was also stroking Sans' side with its tail. Like it was, what...consoling him?

It wasn't like before, when the slug had melded into him down there—Sans didn't feel the worms melting into him. He actually felt them burrow, burying inside him. His body gave an instinctive twitch like this should be hurting badly, but instead it felt like he was accommodating it, like his cunt was opening tiny perforations to make way for invasion. It was ten times more vile than feeling pain.

The one familiar part was that the awful itching was back. It made Sans want to wash with bleach—maybe fire. Anything that would totally obliterate what was in him and make the sensation end.

The slug finally, finally pulled out, and Sans could feel strings of mucous clinging between them from his groin. The way Sans' sweat mixed with the slug's slippery coat made his bones tingle, like a chemical reaction. Sans tried wiping his forehead again and gave a frustrated yowl at the sweat still oozing steadily over him. He just wanted some part of him to be dry, to burn off the itching and the prickling and the wooziness—

He froze with his arm out over his eyes, watching the heavy secretions dripping from his bones.

Sans wasn't sweating. He was exuding slime just like the slug's.

He felt panic bubbling up like thick, hot tar under the surface.

“What's happeni—wh-what're you...d-doing to...me?”

The slug slowly set him down, and Sans laid out limp. His legs weren't moving at his command anymore, as though his body finally felt too betrayed by what he'd let happen to it to obey him. He let the rest of his body give up too, wondering distantly if it was possible to stop existing just by no longer putting in any effort into functioning at all.

He immediately failed his attempt not to feel or react when the slug held the tube appendage over his exposed pussy and spat a few straggling worms out onto it. Sans cried out and gave a weak spasm as they slithered into him, too.

The phone screen was held in front of Sans' face again.

' _MDE THSE 4 U. DONT WASH OUT_ ''

Was that a statement of function, or a command? Sans' mind went blank, a hiccoughing noise coming from his throat.

How could Muffet let the slug do this to him? There was no way another customer would want to touch Sans or his pussy ever again. She wouldn't really leave those in him. It was just the slug's revolting version of dirty talk, right? Like when Scratch baited Sans, back during their first time, when he threatened to take Sans home with him.

After taking its time with the phone, the slug showed a new message to Sans. It seemed it had figured out the caps function, which made the dimly glowing words on the screen somehow more chilling.

' _hold still_.'

Sans whimpered, his trembling body tensing into a pose like a flat, stiff board.

This was it. He couldn't plead out anymore.

He should have sucked it up and let it fuck him at the start without complaining, instead of sitting back and letting it take its time playing with him... _mutilating_ him, only to come right back to this in the end. Sans had never felt quite so humiliated and used in all his time here.

The slug squirmed over him, its body flush against him. As it inched forward, there was a tightening at Sans' waist; the thick muscles rolling on top of him were gripping around it to hold him in place, as unnecessary as that was.

Something poked between Sans' legs.

Nothing was even in him yet, but Sans' hands flew to cover his face, and he sobbed into them. He kept sobbing in wet, shuddering cries, unable to control himself.

The member entered him. It punched in, knocking the air out of him for an excruciating half a minute. When he was finally able to gasp, the cap started to spread his cunt, as though the slug had been waiting to make sure he experienced every moment of this fully.

Sans clenched in anticipation. He could feel the hooks grasping inside him, curling out with a life of their own.

The slug humped his waist once, the member jerking in him as the hooks found a spot to sink in. This time, though, the scratching inside the walls of his pussy sent a tingle of euphoria up Sans' spine. The persistent itching made each scrape of the hooks over the worms' burrows feel incredibly gratifying.

The hooks found purchase in the burrowed holes, locking into him with a tug.

 _That_ felt incredible. A thrilled moan escaped Sans' mouth with the same force as a scream. His hips bounced up, already close to orgasm again. Just pulling up like that and stretching the punctures inside him was absolute bliss.

How could this possibly feel that good. The slug had done something to him, had changed him. There shouldn't be any gratification in his pussy turning into swiss cheese.

The tugging started to make the perforations inside weep something sticky, and the oozing, opened-sore sensation was almost exactly like the aftermath of scratching a bug bite. The continued grating inside him was beginning to make him nauseous.

He wasn't going to stay like this? This wasn't permanent? The mucousy sweat, the worms wriggling between his legs, his pussy being warped to accommodate the slug's sexual needs—Sans' whole body being modified just so he'd make a better toy for it?

Sans needed to ask Muffet, now, before this ended. He needed to know there was a way to reverse this and make him normal again. For all the times he'd wanted to never make a pussy again, the thought of never being able to use it like before, of it being like this the next time he summoned it, made him want to bawl like a baby.

But none of that made it out of his mouth.

“M-muffet I'm gonna puke.”

The slug made no reaction. Something spiraled out from the member, painfully stretching the walls of Sans' cunt. Sans couldn't even feel relieved when the pain disappeared, though, because that meant the magic the slug was injecting was beginning to meld with him. Sans gave a fearful whine, his pelvis bucking from the stimulation.

The slug humped him again, and Sans came. It was a dizzying, weakening feeling, like just feeling pleasure in any of this was a surrender.

Sans was afforded a small break to twitch on the slug's member, and then the slug got moving again. It stretched its head, the thinner appendage peeking back out of its neck. The mouth of the tube hovered over Sans' face, already starting up a pumping motion as it came closer to his closed teeth.

Sans shook his head, speaking through a clenched jaw.

“N...no, you...wouldn’t, not those-”

Not that he'd been given any reason to believe that it wouldn't.

The tube forced its way into Sans' mouth. Sans gave a hoarse cry around it, body convulsing, only to be met with resistance from the member dug in between his legs and the feelers holding his head in place. He was pinned down from both ends, skewered like a spit roast.

The tube started pumping into his throat. Sans moaned out a plea, drool escaping his stretched jaw. The pumping only got faster, culminating in a veiny pulsing he felt on his tongue a second before he was made to swallow an expulsion of worms.

It kept going, kept making him swallow, filling him until there was a backflow from the excess. Without a way to escape his mouth, the worms overflowed through Sans’ magic, falling into his ribs. Sans felt itching and wriggling all through his chest, latching into his spine.

He didn't know from where, but Sans felt a sudden, overwhelming urgency for the slug to _do_ something to him that would fix this. He desperately needed it to ease the unbearable itch.

He needed hooks scraping in him.

He needed it to drag its member through his chest, rough and steady.

Like it was reading him, the slug slipped its tail under his shirt and pulled up. Sans was so eager to feel alleviation that his hands reached up to hurriedly help unbuttoning, and the slug snapped the rest off with a quick tug.

Sans' soul came forward on its own.

That wasn't where he needed it, was it? The slug lowered the underside of its head onto the soul, something grazing over the surface a second later.

Oh yes it was.

Just below the feelers, the slug had some kind of hidden maw opening up in the shape of a heart valve, and the scratch of the curved teeth on his soul was practically flooding Sans with relief.

“Ah- ha- ahhhh.”

Sans groaned, his eyes rolling up. His soul felt swollen with pent-up pleasure about to break—the reprieve from all the torture was too much, so intense it was starting to feel like another approaching sexual release.

The mouth squeezed around him, and Sans heard a series of snapping sounds accompanied by a spurting feeling. Sans came hard, the itching expelling from his soul and leaking away, replaced with dry convulsions that shook his whole body.

“A-ohh...oh god...oh-h...”

He was completely wrung out. He wanted to curl up and just experience this, allow himself to truly submit to being used and stop thinking about where he was or what he was doing, or why he wanted so badly to just forgive himself for giving in to a little pleasure.

The climax took its toll on his soul. It was as used up as he was, still dripping juices, feeling oddly naked where it sat on his chest.

The slug hadn't pulled out, though. Without knowing what it meant for the slug to actually cum, to 'finish,' how would Sans know when this was done? Did it have any other ejaculating appendages it was going to use Sans' body to service, ones even more horrifying than what he’d seen already? Did the next one shoot out, what, ants? Spoiled milk?

Sans' side was being gently stroked. The slug was rubbing him with its tail, no longer thrusting in him. Even the scanty resemblance to affectionate contact made Sans want to cry hard, to plead to be comforted about everything that had been done to him, whether or not it made sense for that comfort to come from the perpetrator. A warbled whimper escaped Sans' mouth.

Maybe there was an acceptable way for Sans to tell it that he was very, very finished. A way to play the game that wouldn't get him in trouble. What was appropriate here? Some kind of pillow talk?

“Th-that was...really good for me...I...c-came really...hard...”

The tail ran over Sans' stomach. Sans took a tight breath.

“Could y-you just-” He choked a little on the words, shutting his eyes tight to block out everything but forcing himself to say this, to admit it. “H...hold m-me? I'm-” His chest jerked with a hiccough, and some tears rolled out one eye. “I'm s-so ti-ired...I...p-please...”

The slug humped his waist, member tugging in and out.

It wasn't done. Sans did his best to shut down everything—his renewed panic, his knowledge of what was coming, the ridiculous sentiment of betrayal, because what had he expected. Just shut down. Just get through it, and then Muffet would praise him, and maybe he’d even get a little break again. Maybe she’d have something new to test on him, something like that estrus thing, and she’d drug him into oblivion.

Just let it finish.

Sans stared blankly up at the ceiling as the slug repositioned itself over him. Some strings of mucous hanging up there looked a bit like a smiley face.

What was the cafeteria serving right now?

Sans felt a static tingle that meant foreign magic was close to his soul. Lowering his gaze from the ceiling, he had some trouble at first putting together what he was seeing.

The slug had manifested its own soul, and it was hovering it over Sans' rib cage. It looked oddly overlarge, like it was some kind of bloated mutation. Then again, Sans had never seen another monster manifest its soul, so his only reference was the tiny one that fit in his own proportionately small chest.

Sans stared at it in dumb confusion.

“Wha—what’re…?”

The bulbous soul was perspiring, pure magic drizzling from it to pool on Sans' soul, then seep in like ground water.

Magic directly from the slug’s soul going inside of him. Mixing with him.

“N...no...oh god…”

Sans went stiff, already feeling the influence spreading through him, somewhere deeper than he could hope to resist. Sans’ right leg tried to kick out, but couldn’t move.

“Oh my god...oh my god no-!”

He could feel the slug... _thinking_ inside him. More than controlling him—it was taking up space that should have been him. Sans’ chest tightened as a welling panic seized his soul, making it feel even smaller than it already was.

The slug pressed its soul closer, the surface slipping on Sans' soul like a bubble about to pop another. Parts of it already glommed onto his, sticky threads that sucked inside as though Sans' soul was accepting this, wanted this.

“No, anything but that! Anything but that, please, oh my god please!”

Sans fought for all he was worth, abandoning caution, and his body gave a delayed struggle like it had to catch up to the orders to move.

It didn't matter if he was bad. It didn't matter if he got punished. Anything, absolutely anything would be preferable to the slug melding with his soul.

“Muffet! Muffet! Muffet, stop him, for the love of god don't let him do this! Muffet please save me oh please oh please save me, save me, save me—!”

The slug kept...what felt like emptying into him, uninterrupted and unperturbed by his efforts. The culmination of Sans' being—Sans should have known his soul was too weak to do anything but submit to what was done to it. After all, that was all Sans had been doing for a while now.

Sans' voice broke on a sob as his motions slowed, movement hampered by the slime on the floor claiming his limbs.

“Please no-o...”

Why had he thought this was off-limits? He'd never heard of any of the other workers being forced to meld souls, but then, that probably wasn't something most clients would want to do with a whore. Sans was unpleasantly taken back to the memory of being on a table, hands strapped down and legs trapped in stirrups, the shadowy Doctor leaning over him with its horrible, artificial magic injecting device.

“ _It surprised me to hear you had any experience at all. Monsters these days seem to think melding is too old-fashioned...too vulnerable to try.”_

The slug had already tried a kind of melding with Sans, and faced little resistance. It probably wasn't so much that the act was banned at Red City, as that this was one of the few times a client would be sure they weren't...risking much.

That didn't really explain why it would want to in the first place.

Sans choked, the only thing his body could think to do to react to being overfilled with the slug's magic. He thought he could see lines in the slug's soul stretching apart.

It was probably a hallucination brought on by the overload of magic, probably a similar reaction to Sans' overdose on the pudding so long a while ago—but Sans was sure he saw the slug’s soul open up, drooling like a mouth, even taking the shape of the trifurcated opening under the slug’s feelers. With a terrible yawning gape, it swallowed Sans’ little heart whole.

Everything was blackness, the light in Sans' sockets snuffed out involuntarily.

Something of the slug's was hammering away inside him, calling through him in an echo. The slug's intentions—thick and pervasive, like Sans was soaking in a bath of them. Pure in the way only something truly cruel could be, clear and cold as a crystal of glass refined to perfection.

It was going to rape his mind.

Sans tried to recoil, but his soul was securely in its hold, and his body wouldn't move an inch but for the distressingly steady rise and fall of his chest. His breathing should be picking up in a blind panic, but even that was beyond his control—the slug wanted him calm, so his body was calm.

Through the murky bath seeping into his marrow, washing into his soul, he was fed a voice he didn't have to hear to understand, that he could perceive even above the deafening clamor of terror.

He’d been bad, and he deserved to be punished.

The room changed, from still, to writhing with life. Sans was falling through the floor, sinking into a bed of worms, body being kissed on every surface and in every crevice by the seething, living mass.

The world was rotting and folding away, caving in like a derelict house with only a shell remaining, the slippery white inner walls of overripe fruit. Sans was caught in a dip at the bottom of a pit, and clawing at the slanting walls resulted in nothing but fingers full of filth. There was no way up, no way out.

His hands hit something hard under the muck on the curved floor of the trough. A swipe over it revealed the white of a severed bone.

Something was dumped onto him from high above. Ducking and covering only resulted in the substance pouring onto his hands and neck from behind—something squirmy and acidic, burning through him and eating away until he was like the walls of the trough, sticky and slippery, some chewed bones in a pile of leftovers.

Sans gasped, eyes snapping open to the room in Red City coated in the slug’s slime, and the slug leaning heavily over him. Sans opened his mouth, but his chin trembled.

“Don't...punish me anymore, please, I didn’t...mean to fight you, I was scared, please...”

The slug's tail made a slime trail as it stroked his side, and Sans was overwhelmed with the need to please it. He had to do what his master wanted. He had to say—but his mouth was moving ahead of him, being puppeted.

“I'll be good. You own me, Master.”

Sans' body gave a shiver of disgust.

“Don't—I can, I can say what you want, y-you don't have to...make me, there's no need to...you d-don't need to do that...”

The slug grabbed Sans' face, keeping his head still and looking straight up at it. He'd been bad, he'd disobeyed—

“I'm...sor-ry...I only...I only mean that...I'll...obey y-ou...”

The tail wiggled under Sans' chin, the closest it could get to scratching it. He was okay, that was good enough. He had to be good, because he and his master were the only ones. There was no one else. No one else around. If he weren't owned, he would have no one. That was why he had to…

The words the slug wanted were already in Sans’ mind, like a script had been delivered.

“I'll...be good. You own me, Master.” He was meant to be owned. He deserved this. “I deserve to be used.” He deserved this. “I deserve to be raped.”

The slug squirmed over him, holding him down as it pumped its member inside him again. At the burst of pain, Sans gasped, his legs twitching in protest. If only he could shut off every part of his body that wasn't obeying his master. It didn’t matter what Sans wanted.

“ _Didn't I tell you before? No one cares what you want_.”

That wasn’t quite right. Who had said that to him? If it was just him and the slug, then there was no one else who could have ever—

Images came flooding back in a sickening rush, of Cecil making a face as Sans licked butter off a piece of bread, of Papyrus proudly showing off his new Royal Guard uniform, of a human stuffing a grape in their nose and laughing, of Muffet fixing his tie.

He’d forgotten them all.

One flick of a switch inside, and everything had been taken away.

Sans opened his mouth before he forgot how to say what was happening.

“Muffet, he’s—”

Rewriting me. Destroying me. Erasing my life.

“—killing me, please, please don’t let this—you c-can’t want this, don’t you. Want to keep using m-me? I can still b...b-be useful please Muffet please please please”

The slug bore down on him. Sans’ legs kicked limply, making weak pedaling motions at the air. Sans shook his head as the slug’s feelers drew in closer.

“No...no...no...don’t take them away, please don’t t-take them, it’s all I h-ave, y...you can’t ple-ease…”

Sans felt a worm of magic tossing in his soul like it was baiting a fish. He sobbed.

“No I—! I'm n-not trying to disobey, please, p-please don’t put me back in there, please, I’ll d-do anything—”

The bottom of a trough with rotting walls. An underlying taste of motion sickness at the back of his throat—the whole structure was swinging, probably suspended on the outside, with nothing supporting the curving bottom. No one was there and no one was coming.

No one was coming.

Sans clawed frantically at the slopes.

“I’m a good boy! I’m a good boy! I’ll be good—!”

A tumble forward into a world with colors other than sickly white and gray, and Sans was huddling into himself, hugging his knees and pressed into the corner of a room in Red City. Sans’ formless whimpering turned into bawling, fat tears rolling down his face.

The slug stroked him.

Sans did some very fast rationalizations.

None of them needed him, not really. All of their lives were better without him. So it couldn’t possibly hurt if he didn’t...if he lost them, too.

And he really, really couldn’t handle being punished again. He had to submit to this.

“I’m...sorry I...I’ll be good.” He swallowed. “You...own me, master.”

The slug tipped Sans’ face upwards.

And?

“I d-deserve to be used.”

And?

Sans shut his eyes tight.

“I...deserve to b-be...r...aped…”

The slug was on top of him again, spreading his legs and shoving in, stretching him inside and the hooks didn’t feel good anymore, they didn’t feel anywhere close to good anymore, and Sans thought he could remember things once being more than just him and his master, but the memory of anyone else faded away like a breath of fog on glass, gone before he could trace the shape.

Sans didn’t notice when he’d started crying again, or when he’d started speaking even, but he became aware somewhere in the middle of his own babble.

“I don’t want to lose them I don’t want to, I did it all for him, I can’t take it, it hurts and I don’t want it, I don’t want it, I don’t want it—”

At some point Sans had been lowered onto his back. He didn’t know how, but he curled into himself.

He was...there was nothing in him. He was on the floor, the slug retreating from him. People came back, smiling faces, frowning faces, a deluge of memories so sudden and complete it made Sans nauseous.  Something was dropped into his lap.

His soul. With something utterly repulsive dripping from it.

...no, that was just the way it looked, wasn’t it? With some swirling green shapes just under the surface, inky blots in a cloudy pool.

It fazed back into his chest, causing his body a convulsion like he was about to puke.

Then he felt it again, the slug entering him, filling him with writhing. Sans compulsively sent a hand between his legs to feel where it was worst, but it touched nothing.

Sans looked up, over at the slug that was still a pace away from him, its member retreated into his body. Then Sans looked between his legs, where there was nothing but his own hand clutching his groin in a pitiful play at protection.

The slug was squirming around to fit more easily in his line of sight, and Sans felt it again, a pumping inside him with enough force to make him squeal. But his hand hadn’t moved, and nothing had touched it.

Sans lay quaking on the floor, holding himself in a little curled up ball. He shifted only his head to stare at the slug, tears streaming down the side of his skull.

“D-don’t make it keep...please make it stop. It’s. It has to stop at...it can’t keep…”

There was a licking feeling that went up further inside his cunt than it should have been able to. Sans' body made a dry heaving motion.

“Have mercy. Have mercy on me. Have pity, I’m so weak, I can’t do anything, I…”

Spreading his legs for it so it could pierce him, a hot, seeping feeling, a flood of cum that itched. His hand still between his legs and the slug still not touching him, somehow, just fucking in his head.

“I don’t want it. I don’t want it. I don’t want it. I don’t want it. I want you so bad Master, I need you to use me, please use me however you want, I need you to own me completely—”

Sans scrambled up to his knees, reaching out for the slug.

“I’ll do anything for you Master, I belong to you, so please use me up, satisfy yourself with me, rape me ‘til it hurts—”

The first dose of reality returned as Sans began to come down from the high of the excess magic, and he caught himself out in one of Red City's hallways in the middle of an outpouring of alien words, supplicating to Muffet to take him to the slug. When he came to he seized up and grabbed her waist, falling to his knees. Muffet sank down too and bent over him, allowing him to cry into her lap.

“Hush now. That's all over. It's over.”

“Muffet. Could I...could I go to Onion? I want to see Onion.”

Muffet must have been using three or four hands to rub his back in long strokes.

“Yes, dearie. You have the week off.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers_
> 
>  
> 
>  **Spoilerific WARNINGS**  
>  Don't read this chapter.  
> body horror, horrifying transformation, eye puncture, worms, worms in the vag, slime, slime in the vag, genital mutilation, holes in the vag, stuff crawling in the vag, mind control, mind rape, really explicit painful rape, excessive cruelty and tears  
>  
> 
>    
>  **Spoilerific Summary**  
>  Sans doesn't want to do this.  
> It turns out the slug communicates via text message.  
> The slug uses a love dart to temporarily alter Sans' physiology, making him enjoy its painful hook dick, and making Sans' body sweat slime like the slug. Something gross happens with worms that you don't need to know about.  
> The slug melds souls with Sans, forcing him under its power. It makes him hallucinate an isolation chamber as punishment for disobedience.  
> Sans is made to forget about everyone he knows, and to repeat a brainwashing script over and over, calling the slug his master. The slug demonstrates that, with the soul meld, it's able to make Sans feel things without touching him.  
> The end of the session gets skipped over as lost time, and Sans wakes from the slug's influence much later, outside the room, with Muffet holding him. He asks to see Onion.  
> Muffet says it's time for vacation. It is sure to be a very nice...relaxing...vacation...  
> -  
> please take care, and don't read material you think will be harmful to you. if you do venture in, let me know  
> how you feel  
> and i will attempt to respond to comments within a month or so of their publish date  
> (this is a joke because i am slow...or is it not a joke because it will actually take that long...? we'll see...!)
> 
> see you next time paleronis


	14. Some traces of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again, my friend.  
>  
> 
> ...why do you keep coming back here. 
> 
> [Theme song for this chapter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vAwVrRIdZ-I&list=PLW0d1YesPHgfn3SlsPDRkr1z1hmt2IMcM&index=16) 
> 
> [And this one's for the bros.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xy-jJ1qdteU&index=14&list=PLW0d1YesPHgfn3SlsPDRkr1z1hmt2IMcM)
> 
> Aftermath ahoy.
> 
> ( **Warnings** for this chapter in the endnote. If you have any kinds of material that you are especially sensitive to or is dangerous for you, I strongly advise you check the warnings on this one. No smut this chapter.)

 

 

“Onion…”

Sans could already see the way his tone affected Onion, getting a rush of clarity with the way the other monster’s brows stitched up, the way tentacles unfolded in front of him like a blooming flower, waiting for him. Even with a touch of the practiced lilt to his voice the octopus himself had taught Sans, it wasn’t enough to prevent Onion from treating Sans like a wounded sheep come back to the fold.  

“Yes, Sans?”  

“Please kill me.”

Onion abruptly drew back.

“Excuse me?”

This was the single most important request to convince Onion of. He absolutely had to make sure he listened to him.

Sans went as close to the edge of the platform as possible and got down on his knees, bending over so his forehead almost touched the floor.

“I...need this, Onion. More than anything. I need it to end.” Sans kept bending down as low as he could crouch without sinking into the floor and disappearing. “I did my...b-best, but it’s, it’s not enough, and I can’t...take any more. I really can’t take any more. You’ve g-gotta know that. Have some...pity.”

Onion didn’t give any answer. Sans trembled with the effort of holding together, with the fear of having to go back. He made the mistake of looking up to see Onion’s blank look of shock, and he couldn’t manage anymore. He felt a constriction in his throat.

“oh god please Onion, haven't I done enough for you? Haven't I fucking done enough that I don't have to be s-screwed by some fucking...some fucking umbrella, used like a toy until I...”

Until he lost his mind.

Sans gripped desperately at his chest, over the spot where his soul was enclosed. “I know that you, that Muffet did something...I can’t crush it, but you could—”

Onion picked Sans up and held onto him, but it wasn’t to honor his plea. Tentacles were wrapping around his body affectionately, going nowhere near his soul. Sans fought against the embrace.

“Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t make me give up, please, I need this, I _need_ it, you don’t understand-”

The tentacles squeezed at him, nudging all the right places to get Sans relaxed and calm, to soothe him into sleep. Slip him back into the warm bath that was Red City, nevermind the bubbling water and hiss of steam, nevermind the boiled frogs all around him like canaries at the end of a fucking coal mine-

“Sans.”

His voice was so fucking tender, held all the promise of a peaceful life. If only Sans obeyed. He could be—

Sans thrashed in the hold, voice breaking in hysterics.

“You don't—” he took a heaving breath. “you don't know what it's like!” He finally managed to wrench his soul out of his chest, although he could still feel the magnetic push it exerted on his grip from the spell, making it so his fingers couldn’t fully come in contact with the surface.

Holding it out meant putting on display just what had been done to it—the greenish tint still running through it like gaseous fumes under the surface. He didn’t even know if this was what was supposed to happen when another monster...

Sans could barely breath.

“He fucking m-melded with—I can still feel his—”

Sans crumpled under the admission actually coming out of his mouth. Letting himself realize for the first time since coming out of the room what this meant for him if he kept going.

“This is permanent. It’s fucking permanent. You can’t leave me like this?”

Onion gently plucked up the soul, giving Sans the faintest glow of hope before the soul was placed back inside his chest. Sans convulsed at its return, feeling the slimy magic settling in him like it was physically sloshing around. The last of his restraint fell apart as sobs overtook his pleas.

“No, oh god, oh god please, don’t make me live like—” Sans’ hands went back for his chest, just to clutch the outside, but Onion peeled them away anyway. Sans’ ragged cries tore at his throat. “Please! Please, you don't know, it won't go away, it feels like he's still— I wanna fucking die, please, please, I wanna die, I don't wanna live anymore!"

All Onion had to do was wait until Sans wore himself out, and his sobbing softened into whimpers. He was still stroking him as he spoke, so gentle it was like he thought Sans might dust at a raised voice alone.

“Shh, you’re taking a long break, Sans. I’ll take care of you.” The tentacles kept rubbing Sans' shoulders and down his arms. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

Sans choked and shook his head.

“I don't care. Why won't you kill me? I tried...so hard...why won't you d...do that for me? I thought I was d-d-doing a good job. Haven't I been good?”

The tentacles wrapped tighter around him, and Onion was silent.

 

 

 

Sans’ return to Red City saw more time with Muffet than he’d probably ever spent in his whole stay there. She had his head tucked in her lap most of the time, which suited Sans just fine, because it was a cozy way to nap and never wake up.

Except he did wake up, several times, enough to know she’d gotten his pussy to form a few of those times to check on it. The first time he really noticed his pussy since getting out, it had already been fixed up. It was like all of it had been a bad dream, and he almost could have convinced himself of that if he hadn’t seen what his soul looked like now.

Sans had his arms around Muffet’s waist, his head cushioned in her lap and the rest of him curled up close around her legs when Cecil visited him. Sans didn’t look up, but heard their voice, uncertain and quiet.

“Hey. Thought you might wanna play cards for a bit.”

Sans nuzzled further into the folds of Muffet’s puffy dress.

“Nah.”

Muffet’s hands stroked his head and down his shoulder affectionately, like a prized pet. Sans just about fell back asleep, but Cecil was still talking.

“You could maybe use it, y’know, talking to us...getting out of the room.”

“Nah.”

Muffet’s petting went uninterrupted. Cecil took on a joking tone.

“Afraid I’ll wipe the floor with you?”

“Mm.”

Some fingers scratched at Sans’ neck, and Cecil was saying something more, but Sans drifted off without catching any of it.

 

 

 

Sans hadn’t intended to ever see the human child again. How could he possibly justify being around them after what was done to him? He felt dirty just existing. Inflicting that on the inhabitants of Red City was one thing, but a child...even one as unsettlingly familiar with the brothel as Frisk was...was bordering on an unthinkable act.

Here he was doing it anyway— but only because they’d come along with his brother.

His brother seeing him now was a horror he wasn’t sure he could even put into words. But he couldn’t just not do what Papyrus wanted.

Sans went to the kitchen himself to pick up snacks for their visit. He caught one of the other workers closing a drawer of knives and standing in front of it as they saw Sans enter— so his plea to Onion had been passed around, it seemed.

He was getting some funny looks besides, from here and on the way to the room. It suddenly occurred to him to wonder exactly how much everyone had seen of him when he was wandering the halls still under the slug’s influence. What he’d said with that crazy goop fresh in his system.

Didn’t matter.

Opening the door to see his visitors today approached the level of dread and anticipation of opening the door to the slug itself. Sans stood there for a minute or two, hand on the knob and tray balanced on the other hand. Hey, that was one thing he’d finally managed. Wouldn’t Muffet be proud.

When Sans got through the door and saw his brother’s face, though—regally dignified but with a look of touched earnestness of which Sans was pretty sure he was the only recipient— what Sans felt was even worse than the minute or so of suffocating anxiety he’d suffered while standing outside.

He felt nothing.

Stepping in and carefully, smoothly setting down the tray on the table between them, Sans reminded himself that Papyrus was the only thing left that mattered. That no matter how he felt, or didn’t, he had to remember that, and keep fighting for it. It was exhausting. But something about the need to remind himself to care was strangely nostalgic.

The human was unusually quiet, which Sans could be thankful for. So long as Papyrus talked enough for the three of them, and Sans knew he could, maybe Sans could get through this.

Papyrus had laid his hands in front of him on the table, almost perpendicular to his straight upright spine. The stiff, grim pose put Sans in an odd flashback to his meeting so many years ago with the royal mortician, who’d been charged as a matter of course with helping the family manage Gaster’s affairs. Sans hadn’t thought about the ominous monster with a hand for a face since that meeting. Sans had hardly been mentally present for it, anyway.

“Sans. I thought we’d start with business first. Christmas is coming up.”

Sans had forgot about it entirely. Something as ordinary as Christmas didn’t seem like it belonged on the same planet as him.

...wait, had his brother just told a joke?

Sans’ face did something, and he wasn’t able to check if it was a smirk or even remotely mirthful.

“I, uh, didn’t think about it Boss. Sorry.”

“Will you have time off for it?”

“I dunno, bro. I gotta see.”

Not if he could help it.

Papyrus’ face grew more stern. There, that was familiar.

“Even the guard has reserves take over for Christmas. I think it’s important that you come home for the holiday. You have a duty to your family.” Papyrus glanced at Frisk. “I imagine you would at least want to come home around then...for the anniversary, to visit where you sprinkled our father’s dust. You always spent a lot of time down there, but it’s such a mess...you could finally get your affairs in order.”

“We gotta talk about this now...? It’ll work itself out.”

Plans for the future, as much as observing a death date could be called that, weren’t something Sans was at all interested in hashing out, even to appease Papyrus.

Sans saw Frisk’s arms wrap around Papyrus’ elbow. The gesture ticked him off with the dampest bit of feeling he could muster. Other people having feelings in front of him when he couldn’t remember what he felt about his own brother was extra tiring.

The resulting silence was starting to become an irritant in and of itself. Sans reached.

“So...how was training with Undyne?”

“Asgore did this to you on purpose.”

Sans’ claws dug a shallow groove into the table.

“Uh, yeah, I told you he got me the job. But call him the King, don’t use his first name bro, come on, are you a baby bones?”

“He suggested that I kill you.”

There was a pause. A too generous pause, like a reaction was expected. Sans probably should be reacting to that. Papyrus clenched and unclenched his gloved fingers to the tune of creaking old leather.

“He wasn’t interested in having me kill Undyne. He does want me to gain LV...but by proving that I am willing to sever ties with you.”

Sans also supposed it would be proper to look away at least, give the barest of affectation, but he just stared straight ahead at his brother without bothering to mold his face into anything.

“So do it. You got an order from the King.”

Papyrus banged a fist on the table.

“I will _not_ let him play with us like this!”

He reached a hand out, indicating Sans in a manner dramatic enough to belong on one of Mettaton’s TV serials.

“We can free ourselves from this wretched situation. We can end this on our terms.” The hand swept outward in a grand gesture. “I will fight. I will fight him, Sans.”

“...don’t say that, Boss. You don’t mean it.”

“How dare you! As my own brother, you know my honor is unimpeachable!”

At this point if Papyrus really wanted to preserve honor, he should deny their relation and be done with it, but Sans’ brother clearly had an inconvenient, stupid personal code that held family and name above all, regardless of the degenerates that might include.

Frisk suddenly slapped their tiny hands on the table, jostling a glass.

“Sans, let your brother take you home! Let him help you!”

Sans bristled at the human’s intrusion. He faced Papyrus when he answered, like they hadn’t spoken.

“Just forget about it, Boss. You can walk away.”

It hardly mattered anymore anyway. Why waste the effort when there was nothing left to save?

“You can’t expect me to do that. I’ve let this go on long enough. We can fight _together_ , brother.”

“Come on, Boss, you’d rather do that than grow in the ranks? You’d give up all your dreams for the sake of a whore? What’d we raise you for?”

Papyrus lifted his hand like he was going to strike Sans across the face, the way he might an underling in the guard. But he held back, his hand hovering in the air and curling into a fist.

“You don’t...you don’t get to call yourself...this is not our fate.”

“Just callin’ a spade a spade, Boss.”

Some of the air drained out of Papyrus’ emphatic declarations. He sank back down in his seat like he really was losing oxygen, popped like a balloon.

“Sans. I know I...I once told you I liked when you called me that. ‘Boss.’ I thought it suited. But I don’t know anymore if it’s...” He waved one hand aimlessly, his gaze drifting away. “I was younger then. And you’re my brother. I’ll always think of you as...we will always be _partners_.”

A little extra slice of empty anger stabbed through the murk of nothingness, that Papyrus had to go and say something like that when Sans couldn’t feel anything about it.

“You...you and our father raised me to be honorable. To have integrity.”

He had entirely too much. Finally Sans had a chance to be more like a proper big brother to him, and he was using it to insist Papyrus go against his personal code.

“I can’t let you throw everything you've got away for this. You gotta be stronger than that.”

The world was falling apart, because Papyrus was wilting before Sans’ eyes.

“How strong do you expect me to be? Do you think those things will mean anything to me, built on your suffering?”

Papyrus’ hands cupped the back of his skull as he bent forward, the practiced duck and cover reflex to a bomb drop, performed by someone who knew it was already too late.

“I would give it all away to free you.”

Thank god Papyrus hadn’t been able to come before the slug. Sans would have crumbled at the offer of salvation.

 

 

 

Sans double-checked the slip of paper with his client’s room assignment as he pulled on his work jacket. So it was back to business as usual already. Not that it surprised him Muffet would turn around on her word like that. But it did surprise him just a little that he didn’t care at all.

What was one more?

In the kitchen, he was eyeballed once again as he set up a tray with drinks and made off with it. Even without the excuse of being busy, Sans wasn’t in the mood to hear empty pity, or worse, cheerful small talk.  

He opened the door to the private room, and Clarence the bunny was waiting there, kicked back on one of two facing loveseats. Sans fell back against the door, his tray clattering. He miraculously managed to balance it, but after thinking for a moment, he dropped it on purpose. The bunny gave him an amused look.

“Lovely to see you too, my dear.”

The dreamlike stupor Sans had been wading through since the slug was finally somewhat broken through by the pure absurdity of the situation, his voice coming out with more life than he’d felt in himself for the past few days.

“How the fuck did you get in here. Didn’t Muffet lifetime ban you, or something?”

Even before Clarence answered, Sans found himself walking over and sitting down on the loveseat across from him, like he was joining an old friend for tea. Clarence waved a hand in the air.

“Nothing so dramatic as all that. We still talk, even. As for the how...the monster watching this room is currently taking a little nap.”

Sans’ thoughts went to Cecil in the monitor rooms, and his soul stuttered.

“A, uh...forever nap?”

“Oh please, Sans, I haven’t been that sloppy in years.” Clarence swung his feet over the edge of the cushion, landing them on the floor so his long legs jut up in a sitting position. “No innocents were harmed in the making of this visitation. Now, as for the ‘why’...”

The bunny leaned forward, cradling his chin in a hammock of laced fingers. “Muffet let slip that you were...not feeling yourself. And I thought it might be time that you really needed me. I couldn’t keep myself away.”

Sans leaned forward as well. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d taken his soul out of his chest and held it out for Clarence to see. Clarence took it delicately in a leather gloved hand. His eyes raked calmly over the surface, taking in the odd coloring.  

“This is truly vile.”

For once the bunny didn’t sound cold. And he’d chosen to voice the one thing nobody had acknowledged since the session with the slug. Sans felt a lump form in his throat as he was flooded with longing.

All that came out of him as he opened his mouth was a small, watery whimper.

“Oh my poor dear, look what they’ve done to you.”

Sans gasped, tears overflowing from some well of emotion he'd thought was gone. His whole body shuddered with them as he struggled to get something out other than wordless wet noise.

“Shh, shh, yes, that about sums it up.”

Clarence drummed over the surface of the soul with his fingers. A sickly green bloomed at each point of contact.

“Too much of it in here...he must be carrying some of you with him, or you’d be gone, losing that amount.”

Sans closed his eyes at the confirmation of what he already knew, hot tears squeezing out.

“It’s...s...s-stuck like...that...”

Clarence was thoughtful.

“Well...there’s always the option for measures of desperation.” He turned the soul over in one hand, his other hand patting something under his coat in a meaningful gesture. “It would probably be a temporary relief to drain it out, but after that, of course, you would...”

Sans got ahold of himself at last, leaning in so much that he almost touched the bunny's face. Clarence was the only one who would understand.

“I’m desperate.”

The bunny reached a hand out to Sans and brushed some of the tears from his face.

“I know, my dear.”

Sans’ eyes were glued to the spot Clarence had indicated in his coat.

“Clarence, would you...” There was a moment where Sans took in their positions, like he was looking in at them from outside his own body: the room they were in, the full situation. “I mean, I could. I could make it worth it to you. You could...” He glanced at his soul, squeezing the couch cushion under him with both hands. “...experiment on it or, whatever you...just so long as after, you...kill me.”

Clarence leaned back, spreading his arms out.

“Sans. We’re friends, aren’t we? And you must imagine I don’t have many of those.”

“Ha. No, you? Must be a hit at parties.”

With his free hand, Clarence pushed his coat open at the chest and unsheathed a knife from a holster under his ribs, the metal gliding out to the tune of a ringing scrape. Sans’ mouth fell partway open at the sound, and he watched the flat of the blade brush over the surface of his soul with a sense of heartache. Clarence spoke with his eyes down, like he was talking to the soul.

“But no, no, none of that. I’ll do right by you.”

The soul was held up between them, the tip of the knife pointed right at a cloud of discolored magic. Clarence’s eyes glanced up at Sans.

“Yes?”

Sans’ breath hitched.

“Please.”

“Then this is goodbye for good, love.”

The knife pinched on the way in, slowly penetrating until the pierce gave way to a grazing sensation, like a deep itch being scratched. A tight feeling bloomed into a warm release, and Sans convulsed, reaching across the gap to grip Clarence’s sleeves.  

“A-ah...ah...ohh...”

“That feels alright?”

“Y...yes...”

Clarence tilted his head, a playful grin twisting up his face.

“On the bright side, I’m reasonably certain this will kill him, too.”

Sans couldn’t answer. Something was leaking. The soul was tipped forward, oozing from the wound, the color from the inside going clear. It almost looked pure. Sans was on the verge of crying again just at the thought, but he was too tired, a seductive sedation calling him deep.

Clarence was putting him down. Or, he was putting the soul down. Sans’ body was shifted and he was lowered onto his back, Clarence supporting his head in one hand. Sans hadn't noticed he wasn't holding his own weight up anymore.

Sans shivered, a chill pricking up his bones. Everything else was getting pleasantly hazy.

The smell of burning tires and a sense of vertigo cut through the comfortable somnolence.

A sudden unwelcome thought flashed in like a movie projecting on a screen before him: his brother supporting him to a couch as Sans hobbled on a cane, Papyrus slapping him on the back like he was congratulating a good soldier. The human, with their stupid, heartbreaking, hopeful smile, running up to him and leaping into his lap, their weight squeezing a curse out of him that got a reproachful glare from his brother.

Dire yearning shot straight through Sans’ emptying soul. It hadn’t even been long since he’d seen both of them, but it felt like years upon years, like he’d been separated until he was as old as the feeble version of him in this vision, this charade of ordinary family life playing out in front of him, and he missed them so much he could die.

Oh...right.

“Wait. S-stop.”

The knife pulled out of his soul. Clarence's voice came softly through a fog.

“It’s a touch too late for that, my dear. You're already dusting. But you got what you wanted, didn't you?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah. Thank you.”

His face must have still been there for a moment at least, because he felt Clarence lean over and kiss his closed teeth.

“Goodnight, Sans.”

“later”

The darkness closed on him like a whisper.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“This is goodbye for good, love.”

The door slammed open. Muffet and Cecil ran in, and Clarence quickly slid the knife back into his coat.

“Clarence, _what on earth do you think you're doing_.” Muffet stormed up to the bunny, while Cecil stepped in front of Sans. Clarence got up quickly, before Muffet could touch him, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Why, availing myself of the facilities of course. _Very_ charming companions you keep here.”

“Out. Out! Out out out now, and never again!”

Clarence allowed himself to be shooed to the door.

“No!” Sans leapt forward. The little mouse grabbed him around the middle and held him to the loveseat. Sans threw a hand desperately over Cecil's shoulder, reaching for the retreating bunny. “Don't let them—!”

Clarence looked over his shoulder at Sans, his expression apologetic. “I'm sorry, my dear, but it seems our little tryst is over.”

Muffet escorted Clarence out.

No no no, he was so close, he was so close

Sans sagged in Cecil's arms, silent tears rolling down his face.

“How did you know?”

Cecil looked uncertain. “Muffet and I...we both got this weird déjà vu at the same time. When we met in the hall, we just came straight here.”

Sans wasn't sure how, but he strongly felt that this was somehow Frisk's fault.

 

 

 

“Hey uh. Sans. I think you might need to see who's at the door.”

Cecil had caught Sans between naps, in one of those times when Sans couldn’t manage to even shut his eyes he was so tired of napping. After Clarence's offer was snatched away, Sans had slipped right back into what wasn’t so much despair as a wretchedly mundane boredom. Sans was so listless, he supposed he would have gone along with whoever had caught him next and told him to follow, just to see if whatever they took him to would wake him up. It was probably good it was Cecil who found Sans when he was like this, but Sans couldn’t even find gratitude in his meager store of feelings.

Despite what Cecil said, they didn’t take Sans to Red City’s entrance. They led him into one of the hidden compartments that opened to a monitor room. One of the other workers, a little fairy-like creature, was waiting in the room, fidgeting until Cecil took up a seat in front of the screens. It seemed the other monster was only keeping watch while Cecil stepped out, which meant that Cecil had come to get Sans during one of their shifts as monitor. A creeping feeling of unease tingled up Sans’ spine. Maybe whatever this was would wake him up after all.

Sans looked around at the different video feeds, other workers in various stages of undress and feigned ecstasy, until he saw what Cecil called him in for.

Papyrus and King Asgore were in the foyer.

Cecil toggled the input, and they heard the audio feed from the room.

“—been spotted coming here quite a lot recently. Have you found something you like?”

“That isn't funny, Asgore.”

The king raised an eyebrow, and Sans got a queasy feeling in his soul.

“If you'll excuse me, _your highness_.”

Papyrus moved toward the inner door. Asgore swept in front of it, his cape flowing out after him.

“Have you considered my offer, Lieutenant?”

Sans saw Papyrus twitch almost imperceptibly, doing his best as always not to betray emotion.

“Your ridiculous offer is not worth considering, my liege. With respect.”

“Papyrus. Face me.”

Sans’ soul pounded as he watched Papyrus turn with automatic obedience, just as any monster in the Underground would and must have done at those words from that mouth.

The king stretched out a hand from underneath his cape, palm up and empty of any weapon.

“You’re young. You’re angry. You have potential. Think through this.”

Papyrus stood stalk still.

“A person in your position has no family in a place like this. Even your brother has been asking for a mercy killing. I am merely allowing you to show a last kindness and fulfil your duty to him, to leave with closure. Most monsters don’t get to see even that much in matters so low.”

Papyrus shook.

“You did this. You did this to him. You put him here!”

King Asgore’s expression didn’t change.

“A monster with stronger moral character would have killed himself as soon as he was ordered to go here.”

A sharpened bone attack manifested in Papyrus’ fist, and a threatening step forward with the killing end of the attack pointed at the king launched Papyrus from insubordination to high treason. The king’s face somehow remained impassive.

“Do you realize what you are doing now, Lieutenant?”

“Spare me, your highness.”

“Fine.”

Asgore finally moved the hand with his trident, but it remained upright with a tap on the floor, like a cane. The king’s eyes narrowed.

“This is your last chance. I have tried to share a difficult lesson with you, but I’ll admit I would not have bet on you to fail it.” The bottom of the trident scraped the ground as it enscribed a quarter circle across the floor. “These attachments...the useless monsters who attempt to shower you in their unworthy love...if you allow yourself to love them in return, they will only poison you. And that will be the end of you. I learned that for myself long ago, and I knew I could not spare you from that hard truth, too.”

Papyrus’ voice came out tight and hardened.

“How very charitable of you.”

The bone was pulled back for a jabbing thrust, and the trident was lifted from the floor at last, and Sans’ feet were scuttling out of the monitor room, tripping through the hidden door like an idiot and propelling him in frustrating slow motion down the hall like he was stuck in a bad dream.

Why had Sans stood there watching so long, gaping like a moron, when he could have left as soon as he saw them in the entrance and gotten to Papyrus early enough to—

He was so, so, so, so stupid, he was going to be too late to do squat, he was moving too late the stupid, stupid, stupid fucking toadstool.

Sans fell apart in the hallway midstep, raw and flayed like the peel dropping away from spoiled fruit. He couldn’t make it the rest of the way just to see the inevitable aftermath. He knew what he was heading towards.

How could he have thought Papyrus, of all monsters, could be dissuaded with mere words, could be told to sit back and let his only family die miserable in a whorehouse. It was like Sans didn’t know Papyrus at all. If this was going to happen, Sans could have at least been there to stand with him, could have fought together like he’d wanted. Sans was plagued by an unfair fantasy image of the two of them dropping on Asgore from the ceiling, spinning from a tangled rope and firing guns crazily in every direction, like that human movie with the Irish brothers Papyrus had them watch every Christmas.

It had ‘saints’ in the title, so Papyrus insisted it was about Santa.

Sans buried his face in his hands and sobbed hard— deep, breathtaking sobs that rocked him and paralyzed his body, shutting down everything else.

There was the pitter patter of footsteps coming up behind Sans, Cecil stopped and gently grabbed his shoulders, they were going to say something to him, he didn't want to hear it—

Sans threw his arms over his head to muffle any sound from reaching him. He screamed the human child's name— he didn't know why, but he knew that they could do something about this. That they were his only hope. That Papyrus needed them...

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

 

“Sans, why won’t you just accept Papyrus’ help?”

A flash of a nightmare image, of Papyrus falling to his knees and Asgore standing over him, his trident streaked with first dust, brought a burst of new anger into Sans’s soul. His voice came out through clenched teeth.

“Because it wouldn’t end well.”

Maybe Sans imagined it, but something in the child’s face spoke of remorse.

Here they were again, in the long hall with some of the least traffic in Red City, sitting in with Sans just to run their tape recorder mouth on their oldest and most annoying song.

“It wouldn’t have to be bad...if you really talked to him. He said he’d end this! If you didn’t lie anymore, if you tell him what they’re really doing to you— he’d understand, he’s your brother, you could work it out together if you just—!”

Sans snapped, grabbing Frisk by the shoulders and shaking them.

“Don’t you get it, you stupid spoiled surface brat! He fucking knows what happened to me! How the _fuck_ could he not?” Sans’ eyes lit up, unable to hold back. “You know what that promise really is? What it means for a monster with his LV to challenge the king? It’s a _fucking suicide pact_ , get it?!”

Sans let go, allowing the human to dip back in stiff shock. Sans huffed.

“To die for honor. To restore the family name. That’s the kind of monster the Bo— ...Papyrus really is.”

Suddenly Sans felt extremely, deathly tired.

“You don’t know him at all. I know he’d. I know he’d do anything at all to get me out...if that were something he could do.”

The human finally spoke in a small squeak.

“...pact...”

They looked up into Sans’ eyes.

“...you mean, afterwards...he would expect _you_ to...”

Sans shrugged.

“Yeah. That follows.”

A gust came through the far door, and it felt like the hallway was breathing on them, the only noise for at least a minute. The human gripped the sleeves of their sweater.

“Why...?”

Sans didn’t meet their eye again.

“Cause this ain’t a fuckin’ spy game. Cause where would he take me? Home to Snowdin, where all the dog guards are? Out of town, what...to Hotland, where there are even more cameras than the capital? To Waterfall, where Onion works, has his little posse roaming the dump? If the King doesn’t want him to do it, then we’re outta options, kiddo.”

Sans set his hands behind him on the bench and leaned back, watching the ceiling.

“Without any kinda plausible deniability left...a monster in his position would really only have two choices. Disown me, or...die for me. A last stick in the eye, yeah?”

He finally turned back to look at the child. They were hugging themselves even tighter, lower lip pouting and chin tight, holding back angry tears. Sans tapped a claw on the bench.

“The king, giving us a third option...for Boss to kill me and move on...that’s a mercy.”

Frisk took a sharp breath, one little tear escaping as their mouth trembled.

“I...Papyrus told me...he was coming today.”

Sans’ idle tapping stopped. The child went on.

“...he said that...he knew King Asgore was planning to come here...”

Sans shot up from the bench, panic setting in deep in his bones.

“They’re both— and they’re gonna— no, he can’t, he—”

“I got Papyrus to stay at home instead.”

Everything flew out of Sans in a flurry, like the wind in the corridor took his panic with it. He sat back down in a daze, coming down too fast.

“What’s...but...? How’d...how’d you get him to back off?”

“...I asked him not to fight my father.”

 

 

 

“So...the heir to the throne. Wouldn’t happen to be considering Klingon Promotion, would you? Heh...”

Frisk stayed silent and awkward. It was possible they hadn’t caught Sans’ meaning, which was just as well.

They sat across the table of snacks Muffet had set up for them in the private room. It had been getting late, and the human had ended up literally buying more time from Sans. The spread of cucumber sandwiches and tea cakes was pretty handsome, and Sans didn’t let himself think too hard about how much Frisk had spent on him. The idea made him queasy.

The human responded between sandwiches.

“I’m not...heir to the throne. King Asgore just likes to keep me around.”

“The guy you call your father ‘just likes to keep you around,’ huh? That’s harsh.”

“Sans, if your brother was counting on both of you dying, then why does he say he’s afraid you’ll be like your dad?”

Sans dropped the finger food he’d picked up into his cup of tea.

He sat watching the crumbs start to dissolve in his drink and stirred it with a disinterested finger.

“I...those’re different things. Dad had a dangerous job. Messed with stuff you’re not supposed to mess with...I learned a thing or two from him before he died, so I could see Papyrus thinking I might’ve gone down that route, if I’d had the chance before—”

“Your dad was a time traveler, right?”

Sans dropped his bite into the tea again in the midst of fishing it out.

“Who—?”

Frisk looked down at their lap, shuffling their hands in it.

“...Alphys told me.”

“Whatta blabbermouth.”

“Yeah...” The child looked to the side, putting down their next sandwich without biting it. “So, but, uh— she, um, said that you could do some time magic too. I was wondering if maybe that had something to do with...”

“Ah...yeah.” Sans gave up on his tea and soggy snack, pushing them away. “I used to be able to. Shortcuts— you just take a ride on a CTC and trade places with a different place you’ve been; it’s barely time magic except for cheating your way out of waiting in the same spot for weeks, or however long it’s been since you’d been there.”

Frisk gave Sans a long stare.

“...CTC?”

In spite of their confusion, or maybe because of it, Sans found himself getting more excited about explaining. He hadn’t talked to anyone about this kind of thing in years.

“Closed timelike curve— it means you can’t do anything except what was already going to happen, or what already happened. It’s like...spacetime’s watchdog to prevent people from killing their own grandfather and not being born. That’s why shortcuts don’t do anything but make you stand still in a different spot from where you were standing still a second ago. Lazy time travel...just my type.”

Maybe he felt freer to talk about this since Frisk already knew so much, or maybe it felt so thoroughly like the end times that Sans had given up on caring about discretion. But it did feel good, somehow, to talk about something in an area he didn’t feel totally hopeless in. To talk about Gaster.

“Dad’s type was...whaddya call it, Deutschian time travel. You need Determination to do any kinda time magic that changes the outcomes of the past, and the labs used to extract the stuff. Dad said time magic wasn’t worth messing around with. Said it was always too tempting to use it for personal reasons, and that it never really works out.” Sans was almost out of breath before the end. “That, and it’s super unstable.”

“Was your dad the one who found out that time’s stuck in a loop?”

“You really got Alphys to trust you, huh? I can’t imagine the king wanting that kind of information being given out willy nilly, even to...well.”

“Alph— ? Oh. Yeah, she...told me about the time loops...”

Frisk put their tea cup down with a clink. Sans looked over their remorseful expression.

“Depressing, huh? I dunno if I like her telling you that stuff anyway...being stuck here in the Underground is enough of a ‘downer’ without knowing it’s gonna keep going again and again.”

“It’s not...so bad, though...is it...? It’s...almost like this is the first time it all happened, since no one remembers. All that’s left of the previous timelines is déjà vu.”

“Heh. Yeah. I guess so. No telling when we reach the end as far as time'll be allowed to go, but I guess we won't notice that either.”

“So your...so Alphys never figured out...who was looping time after your dad died?”

Sans blinked.

“Oh. Oh, no, time travelers don’t make time loop.”

“...what? But didn’t you say time’s in a loop now?”

“Well...” Sans tapped his fingers on one knee, thinking it out. “I mean, Alphys’ best running theory now is that the repeats are caused by time distortion from the barrier. That would mean that the ‘loop’ is just the shape spacetime’s taken up. No paradoxes, because there’s no active agent changing things that shoulda been, and any differences caused by déjà vu carrying over would just become what’d always been.

Time travel would be a different story. If we’ve got impressions of things having been different before, then that means...somebody’s been messing around, cheating paradoxes. That’s serious shit.”

“...how is that different?”

Sans’ mouth opened and closed.

“How do I...so, I had this...this theory about my...about my dad...”

Sans squirmed. He’d never shared this with anyone.

“He was always pretty protective of me, never wanted me to go anywhere or do anything dangerous...and his definition of dangerous was pretty, uh, aggravating for a restless rugrat like me. 1 HP, y’know, it’s...it’s really a miracle I lived this long at all.”

Frisk’s expression softened.

“Yeah...it’s really lucky.”

Sans gave a dark laugh.

“Heh...or...not.”

The child’s face went blank.

“A miracle, or...or I’m not the first ‘me’ my dad raised. One little accident...a scrape, a bad fall, roughhousing that went too far...amazing that none of those things happened to me even once. Unless they did, and my dad just...”

Frisk whispered.

“What do you mean...the ‘first’ you?”

“Well, that’s what I’m getting at, I guess. Spacetime ain’t a fan of paradoxes. So you can time travel through CTC, and have fun doing the same thing over and over I guess, do absolutely nothing that changes anything so that it preserves spacetime as it always was...or you use Determination to break out the mold and give a little leap, avoid paradoxes completely. The key word in time traveler is ‘travel,’ yeah?”

Sans picked up a cookie, flourishing his other hand under it.

“This is you as a time traveler.”

Frisk’s eyes followed the cookie as Sans dipped it in his drink and held it there. He pointed to the crumbs sloughing off.

“There’s what you share of yourself wherever you are: memories of you, things you’ve done. It leaves a mark. But let’s say you decide you don’t like the way things are goin’ here...let’s say your dumbass kid got himself killed tripping over a rock.”

Sans took the cookie out of the tea and held it over the table.

“You can cheat yourself in time before that rock, stop everything you just saw from happening, but you can't do that in your own timeline without causing a paradox. So you gotta do it in a related timeline. Basically just hop out of yours sideways and move backwards.”

He diverted the cookie’s path sideways, then backwards to hover the cookie over Frisk’s cup.

“And in your hand-crafted second chance, you move the rock, or lock your kid inside, something that makes this timeline a nicer place for you to live.”

The cookie dipped into the drink, already shedding more crumbs. Sans indicated the mess.

“There’s the déjà vu caused by time travel. Your memories and actions get disseminated into everybody in the new timeline as you arrive, except that things don’t quite match up, cause you remember things nobody else does. You remember your kid dying from a dumb rock, and you _also_ remember him _not_ dying cause you used lasers to blast every rock in the Underground into harmless gravel. So when you bring your creepy fake death memory with you, it’s like other people almost remember...something that never happened to them. S’why time travel’s so unstable. You warp every new place a little more each time.”

Sans took the cookie out and bit into it. Frisk looked over at Sans’ tea cup.

“And what...what happens to the timeline you...the one you—”

“The one you left?” Sans waved a hand at the goopy tea. “Keeps on chuggin’ however you left it. With some traces of you, probably.”   

Frisk’s mouth hung open.

“Dad was right for once, huh? Don’t wanna mess with time travel. That kinda existential moral quandary shi— stuff could drive you totally bonkers.”

Frisk dropped their cup, and it shattered on the floor.

“You lied to me.”

“I...what? I’m pretty sure I didn’—”

“Last time, you said...you never told me this. But I...I never talked to you about time loops without telling you that I’m- were you...were you just f-fucking sugarcoating it for me?”

Sans flinched. He’d never heard the child swear before. For some reason, out of everything, that was what struck home for him once again that this wasn’t a good environment for them.

“I...I’m pretty sure I’ve never talked to you about time loops before, kiddo.” He paused as it clicked. “Unless...you mean that you’re—”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“...shit! I didn’t mean to— I can’t believe I just—”

Sans flinched. He’d never heard the child swear before. For some reason, out of everything, that was what struck home for him once again that this wasn’t a good environment for them.

Frisk put their face in their hands.

“Why did I do that...now he’s all alone!”

Sans blinked, taken aback. The child was usually a little weird, but today they were bordering on nonsensical.

“Who’s alone?”

The child’s face peeked through their fingers, eyes puffy and spilling tears, looking truly miserable.

“N...nobody you...kno-ow...”

The sight of them sobbing was too much. Screw the distrust and the speciel differences, whatever the fuck anger Sans had been clinging onto, this was just a kid. Sans got up and shuffled to their couch, sitting next to them and putting his arm around their shoulders.

“Hey, shh, sweetheart. You just take care of yourself, okay? Nobody’s asking anything more from you.”

“Sans I’m so...s-orry...”

“Shh. It’s okay. It’s all okay. I’m here.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> watching boondock saints = great christmas tradition?? Probably
> 
> _spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>    
>    
>  **Warnings** :  
> suicide, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide
> 
> If you're here, thanks again for continuing this journey with me. It means more than I can really say. This is some kinda strange, long path I've apparently chosen, and seeing old and new faces come in here and scream and cry and emote with me is really a joy. 
> 
> I'd say we have...one or two chapters left to go, depending on how I split up the ending. And then it's....threequel....time....
> 
> I'll keep churning out this monstrosity of psychological bile, and I'll still be around to delight in your commentary and the holy crosses you keep chucking through my windows. Protip: they have only made me more powerful. 
> 
> McLeech ([on tumblr](https://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/))  
> party at my place if you wanna yell about time mechanics or chuck your kink needs at me


	15. We both know what’s gonna happen to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again my friends. 
> 
> We're here, at the penultimate chapter. You may notice that there's one extra chapter promised in the index up there- just like last time, the last 'chapter' 17 is going to be a short preview of the next part of the series. So, next chapter, chapter 16, is the end of Red Light District. And then it's onward to the threequel story...!
> 
> The second to last chapter might not yet be the time for me to be getting emotional, but it does mean a lot to me to see those of you still around from the beginning, those of you who stepped in later, those of you who were too shy to say anything for a while but eventually did, those of you who will forever remain in the shadows, unknown to me. I hope I could bring something to you in return.
> 
> This chapter contains one sex scene, and some scenes meant to provoke an ASMR response. Lemme know if that works out for you, ASMR-having compadres. As always, check the endnote for warnings. Please remember to take breaks as needed and have some nice tea or coffee or comforting beverage to accompany you into horrorporn territory and keep you grounded in the sensations and safety of your present.
> 
> Thank you guys so much. Red City would in no way exist in the way it does without you.
> 
> Music for this chapter: [No Friend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2hsc42CFrUM&index=30&t=0s&list=PLW0d1YesPHgfn3SlsPDRkr1z1hmt2IMcM), [That's Okay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2KeMcOJ4rm8&list=PLW0d1YesPHgfn3SlsPDRkr1z1hmt2IMcM&index=31)

 

“That’s it, turn around dear, and stand up straight. I want to see how it looks from the back.”

There was a silent moment, except for the zip of fabric brushing on fabric as Sans fidgeted, where Muffet appeared to drink in the final stitch job.

He was decked out in the newest creation from the spiders that populated the walls of Red City, presumably family of Muffet’s and almost certainly the way in which most parts of the complex were ‘bugged.’ They were also, apparently, adept seamstresses and the reason Muffet never seemed to lack for perfectly fitting, bespoke outfits to dress Sans up in, despite his unusually small stature. Sans had a suspicion that Muffet had them recycle the thread from old outfits when she got bored of them.

Using Sans as a dress up doll had to be the number one reason next to whoring that Muffet had bought him, Sans thought as she circled around his still body and smoothed out the waist on his new coat jacket. Her fingers ran delicately through the faux fur on the collar, one fingertip brushing Sans’ face so incidentally and gently that it sent a little shiver of pleasure up his spine.

“I did say once, didn’t I, that you have a certain brand? This look really suits you, dearie. It’s quite cute.”

Just like how Sans had thought he could never get used to offering his body to strange monsters every night, this too had become a new level of hell he had grown disturbingly accustomed to. Some feeling came back, and he was able to find his gratitude that at least Papyrus was still doing well, that the human child was apparently under the protection of the king himself and didn’t seem in danger of a horrific end any time soon. And that awful, slimy weight to Sans’ used up soul became his new normal.

It seemed there was just no limit to how much a monster could endure.

As the beginnings of emotions came back, Sans was also able to be ashamed of himself for frightening Frisk, a mere child, with all the talk of offing himself. Despite having the king of all monsters at their side, they were still attached to Sans and his fate somehow, still visited him constantly, sometimes just to nudge into his side and allow him to comfort them like he’d never had to do for Papyrus. Sans felt a selfish assurance that at least they acted like they needed him as much as he was sure he’d grown to need them.

In spite of Sans’ doubts, the break after the slug actually did some good to pull him together. It helped that Muffet had taken to him like an especially spoiled pet.

Sans had been kept on a strict diet in Red City ever since the morning Muffet caught him eating nearly a dozen pancakes in one sitting. But suddenly, it seemed all her tough restrictions on him had been lifted, and without prompting she was bringing him probably every dessert Red City had on the cafeteria menu, and some clearly off-menu items that had been frosted and decorated with a little extra homemade love. She even brought him some fried foods that must have come from street vendors outside in New Home.

Muffet never did anything out of charity, but whether she was preparing to extort something from Sans or just bribing him for his affection, playing at easing whatever conscience she might have, Sans didn’t care. He didn’t have enough pride to refuse the gifts, and he didn’t have enough self worth to withhold his affection for her.

“Now, could you hand me that lovely little bow that Shyren gifted you? There, thank you, there’s a dear.”

She stooped close enough that Sans got a heady waft of her cookie dough perfume, and her thin fingers slipped over his neck to fasten the bow under the collar of his shirt. They slid forward to his clavicle, straightening the laced ends of the bow to hang over his chest.

“That does add such a nice touch.”

Muffet surprised him with a quick peck on the mouth that left his head spinning, a bare taste of warmth and wetness lingering on his teeth too long for how short the gesture had been.

Matching the fingers and thumbs of both hands into adjacent L-shapes, like the view of a camera, Muffet savored one last look at Sans in the suit before motioning him to take it off and fold it.

This time, though, she didn’t have another outfit ready to get him into next. She took each item of clothing from him one by one, until he found himself stripping down entirely in front of her. He didn’t have much in the way of shame around Muffet anymore, but Muffet putting on gloves as soon as he was bare did elicit a spark of fear from him.

Muffet led Sans to the bed in the room, indicating he should lay down and spread for her.

Sans hadn’t actually been fully awake and aware like this for Muffet to check on how everything had healed. Now he got all the way to laying down, and then he was trembling hard, his magic still unformed.

A cool hand stroked his head, another petting the crest of his ilium where another monster’s waist would be. Sans swallowed, opening his legs and letting the magic coalesce into his pussy.

“There’s a dear.”

Muffet must have coated her gloves in lube at some point, because the touch was cold and gel-like, fingers sliding into the opening of his pussy to ease it wider, Muffet’s head dipping to look in. She felt at him for only a moment before her hands were drawn away and her gloves coming off, but there was a rush to it that suggested she had been interrupted, rather than just having finished that quickly.

She was leaning over his face, wiping something wet, and- oh, he was crying.

“Oh, oh honey, it’s alright. We can stop. It’s okay.”

Sans choked on a lump in his throat, and suddenly piteous gasps were coming from him.

“I’m scared...I’m scared, Muffet...”

“I know dear. Shh.”

“I’m so scared...”

“There, dear, we’re done. We won’t keep going. It’s alright. I won’t make you.”

Muffet framed his face with four hands, petting it smoothly with one set of hands over the other, so he was always being touched.

“All you’ve been through. You’re so brave, honey.”

Sans had probably never felt less brave than while he was weeping wretched and naked under her as she did nothing more sinister than coddle his ridiculousness, but he could appreciate that she was considerate enough to lie.   

 

 

It seemed like Sans’ life was being Muffet’s lapdog, now. Although maybe that wasn’t the right word for it, with its implications of servitude and running around. This was more literal: Sans spent most of his time either close in Muffet’s presence, or actually in her lap.

It wasn’t so bad. He didn’t have to go with her on her rounds of the complex, didn’t have to see anyone else’s face if he didn’t ask. Muffet’s company wasn’t bad either. Since dealing with how delicate Sans had been, she must have perfected her impression of warmth, because it had become indistinguishable from the real thing.

The methodical way she set up a bath for him tonight had the air of a ritual around it. Clothes folded on a dry bench. Muffet’s sleeves rolled to her elbows. The hint of aftercare already set up with a pillowy towel and lotions settled on top. It gave Sans the impression she intended to make this a part of their regular routine.

Sans wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that she lowered him into the bath herself, held like an infant, or an invalid. It did add to the atmosphere of helplessness, that Sans could do nothing but ride along the journey of his fate by carriage, incapable of changing course and therefore blameless. So he would go ahead and call it better this way.

A waft of thick aroma breathed up from the bath in a cloud as he was eased into the water, a slight shimmer and cloying density the only other hints that Muffet had added something to the bathwater. Sans idly lifted one hand above the surface, and sure enough a thin film twinkled over his bones as they peeked out in the air. He was probably going to sparkle for weeks after this.

Muffet poured a sweet-smelling soap into the bath after him, lathering up her hands in it before rubbing the foamy bubbles over his back. Sans couldn’t restrain a contented sigh as the lather was massaged into his shoulder blades with four of her thumbs. His eyes closed stupidly one at a time in pleasure. Sans was taken with a stray thought that it would almost be a waste if this wasn’t in preparation for sex, because he finally felt ready for it.

An odd pulling sensation distracted Sans from that line of thinking. Had the tub been unplugged somehow? The water level wasn’t draining.

There was a rip. It was like the sound of a piece of paper tearing, except how it must sound from the perspective of the ink on a typed page. It was huge and it was unfathomable, and it was happening right below Sans. It wasn’t physical, but he could sense it, could feel it like a chasm of unrelenting emptiness, calling in everything around it in a swirl of wrongness.

Sans smelt burning rubber. Time burnout? Well, Sans didn’t really have complaints if he was just being forced to experience this luxurious bath over and over again. He was about relaxed enough for that to be the case. It felt like he was sinking in the bath, smothering in it, feeling warmth all around him as he fell and bounced on a thick, wet mattress.

Or no. That was literally what was happening?

Sans shivered on the soaked sheets, dumbly trying to catch up to his existence.

He was in one of the private rooms for workers to entertain clients. He was sprawled on a large, cushy four poster bed. He was naked, Muffet and the bath were nowhere to be seen, and the squishy comforter was drenched in what smelled suspiciously like bath water.

Sans wasn’t high on pudding again, was he?

He barely dared to move. The curtains of the four poster were drawn all around him, and if experience taught him anything, a client was waiting right outside them, ready to make his life hell with some creatively sexual sadism.

He didn’t hear anything. With some trepidation, Sans crawled forward and delicately pulled back one of the curtains.

No one was in here.

An unused room? What was he doing here?

Then the lock clicked open, and the door was swinging out. Here it was. Before Sans could withdraw back into the curtained bed and wait for his fate to approach him like the coward he was, he saw the dangling light of Shyren’s head peeking into the room.

The rest of her followed, and when she caught sight of Sans, her face transformed in a way Sans couldn’t parse. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever looked at him like that.

She rushed forward suddenly, gathering him up in her arms and squeezing the life out of him like she wanted to take it for her own.

“Oh Sans, oh my god. I thought you were dead. I...I missed you so much.”

Sans heard a warbled intake of breath, a sob over him that sprinkled on the top of his skull as he was enveloped in her.

Then it was taken away, Shyren letting go of him and putting her hands up to either side of her face.

“I’m- sorry, you don’t like being touched like that, do you?”

Sans’ arms were already reaching out in a plea for her hold to return, his mouth a little open and his sockets a little wet, too. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted touch so badly. After everything, Shyren’s open show of affection was a physical declaration of something Sans couldn’t be without now that he’d tasted it.

With a look at Sans’ reaction, Shyren fell right back into clasping around him. They stayed attached interminably; time must have stopped along with whatever else was going awry with it, because Sans felt frozen in the moment by the smell of Shyren’s skin, the soft sigh of a few more broken sobs, the shifting of her fins on his back as she couldn’t seem to decide how to hold onto him.

Finally, she drew back from him, but she held onto his shoulders, her eyes puffy and watery.

“It’s so good to see you. Let’s...let’s get you into some clothes, out of this room...”

As Sans was wrapped up with a sheet around his shoulders and whisked willingly along down the hall, he thought of the other workers he knew, and he was overtaken by a sudden, embarrassing greed for more of this sappy treatment.

“Um. Where’s Cecil at right now...?”

Shyren stopped, and Sans nearly bowled over into her. She didn’t turn at first, only looking straight ahead.

“I haven’t seen Cecil for some time now.” Sans felt a constriction in his soul, and Shyren turning her head to show a face of fresh tears didn’t reassure him. She put a fin to her mouth, her voice shaking. “I’m actually...I’m very worried...”

 

 

They ended up holed up in Shyren’s room, which Sans had never visited before. It was a little more homey than Sans’, decorated with posters and show bills, and with a vanity in addition to the standard dresser. It looked so lived in, with a collection of cutesy makeup kits and perfumes in front of the framed oval mirror, clothes hanging over the chairs but still folded, and a dim, romantic lighting that suggested she’d purchased her own lamps and arranged them herself. The atmosphere made Sans feel oddly homesick for a place that was never his.

Shyren had calmed some, enough for her to start talking again at least.

“After you, well...I thought you had died...you were in a session that you never came out of. Muffet was guarded about the circumstances, but one of the workers on monitor said that you’d been...stabbed.”

Sans felt a phantom stinging where his abdomen would be, and he clutched pointlessly at the bottom of his shirt.

“It was...some time after that, when Cecil was with a client, and came out...” Shyren started wiping at her eyes. “...different, worse than before...but Muffet didn’t...let me see them...” Shyren’s face sunk into her fins. “I should have...it’s been so long, I should have done something...” Her shoulders gave a jerk. “I don’t even know if they’re still in the Red City complex...”

Sans reached out and tentatively set a hand on Shyren’s arm. He’d never seen her like this in the entire time he’d known her, and it was making his soul ache hard in his chest. He didn’t know how to deal with her grief at all, much less the new hole opening up inside himself at the thought of the little mouse being...gone.

“Is Frisk around?”

Sans didn’t know why he always thought of the human child when things seemed fucked beyond reason, but he reached for the idea of them like a lifesaver floating in a choppy sea.

Shyren, however, only looked confused, her head lifting from her cupped fins.

“Who’s Frisk?”

That couldn’t be right. Shyren had met Frisk, and it wasn’t like her at all to forget someone she’d seen so recently. Sans was about to delve into that new issue when the door to Shyren’s room was opened without a knock. Sans didn’t have to turn to know who it was, but he did anyway, obediently giving over his attention like he’d been trained.

Muffet didn’t look at all like she did when she’d been bathing him just a bit ago. Her face was somewhere below cold fury as she took him in with her many eyes.

“ _You._ ”

Sans went solid stiff, terrified by the accusation in Muffet’s tone. Muffet entered the room with the ominous sweep of a death shroud.

“You were here all along? Where were you hiding?”

Sans had no idea how to answer her. Even if he knew, he was too paralyzed by fright to give her anything more than a tiny whimper.

“Do you have any idea what you cost me?”

Shyren’s arm came around Sans protectively, and he wanted to relinquish everything to her so badly, as unfair as it was. He wanted to sink back into her arms like a

-comforting

warm...

...bath?

Or was that what was literally happening?

Sans rubbed his hands over his face, wiping the bath water away to see Muffet staring at him from over the rim of the tub. Sans couldn’t restrain his quaking as he was faced with her this close, but she didn’t have any of the icy anger of a second ago. She only looked impossibly confused by something about Sans. Sans looked around himself for anything that could clue him in.

It was a perfectly normal bath, just as it was...before?

Muffet shook her head.

“Oh dear, I seem to have...spaced a bit.”

She smiled at Sans.

“Let’s get you dry and cozy, hm?”

Sans was too out of sorts to do anything but enthusiastically agree.

 

 

What was wrong with Sans.

The more he thought about the bath incident, the more he was sure it must have been a fall into another timeline. A timeline where Sans was dead, where something awful happened to Cecil. Time had been burning out so much lately, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. It had only been a matter of, well, ‘time’ until everything got tangled. Now things were falling apart. Was this what happened towards the end of a loop, right before things went back to the beginning, wherever that was? Sans supposed he wouldn’t remember anyway, if this was what happened each time.

For some reason, though, Sans couldn’t focus on contemplating a possible end times. His thoughts kept going back to Cecil. He hadn’t bothered to see them of his own volition since the slug. And they’d done so much for him. Right from his arrival, they’d looked after him, no matter how much of a dick he was. They’d done their best to help him in this wretched situation. They’d understood his suffering.

Oh god. Cecil didn’t want to be here.  

They didn’t want to do this. How could Sans have just ignored that like it didn’t matter?

It was like the lock to a safe opened in Sans’ brain, and a flood of revelations overwhelmed him at once.

Sans may have been trapped by more than the brute strength of Muffet’s guards, but Cecil wasn’t, were they? It wasn’t like the king had any particular stake in _Cecil’s_ captivity here. They’d told Sans themself, they were an orphan. They were all alone.

No family to disappoint.

Didn’t they say they were interested in the Royal Guard? Didn’t Sans have an obvious in as far as that was concerned? Far from having a reason to keep Cecil here, if there were potential for them to increase the strength of the monster army, King Asgore could only benefit from them getting out of here and training with Papyrus.

Sans bolted up from the bed he’d been wallowing on with more energy than he’d felt in a long while, wired with the idea that he could actually make something good happen. Sans had probably never been so motivated to do something so hopelessly naive, but he had to try. He had to talk to Cecil.

He wasn’t far out of the room before he was met with Muffet, like usual. He’d been staying in one of her personal rooms lately instead of his own. As shameful as it was, sleeping near her eased his nightmares considerably.

Sans let Muffet pet him peacefully for a moment before coming out with it.

“I wanna go see Cecil today.”

Muffet’s stroking hand paused. Her face fell into puzzlement. That was fair- he hadn’t really requested anything or even willingly ventured out of her presence since she’d made herself so available to him.

“They’re busy, dear. You can spend the day with me today.”

Suddenly that didn’t sound as generous as it had the past while. Muffet smiled and resumed petting him. Sans swallowed, already losing the confident air of his initial request.

“I...wanna see them when they’re done...?”

“Maybe, dear, we’ll see. I’m sure they’ll be tired.”

Sans felt chills floating up like dust motes, a familiar anxiety brewing in response to being shut down.

Was Sans wrong?

Was it both timelines where something terrible had happened to the little mouse?

 

 

Muffet’s behavior didn’t get any less suspicious. It seemed Sans’ isolation wasn’t a kindness to him after all- it was a convenience to Muffet for whatever reason, and she wasn’t easy about giving it up. Sans found himself followed wherever he tried to go, ‘encouraged’ not to go to more populated areas of the complex.

Finally after the third or fourth failed attempt to escape her watch, Sans took the possibly fatal option of challenging her directly. Or as challenging as he could still manage when he looked into her face, anyway.

“Muffet, I...I want to see Cecil. I want to see them, I’m not gonna...I’m not gonna stop asking until I see them.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Sans, you really have become spoiled. Let’s go, then; I’ll take you so you can stop pestering me.”

That wasn’t...quite the response Sans was expecting. He felt that building uneasiness again as Muffet led him down the hall, like he was going to arrive at an empty location and then be given some elaborate excuse why Cecil wasn’t there, why he couldn’t see them for the foreseeable future, why Sans and Muffet were headed out back to put a bag over Sans’ head and shoot him from behind instead.

But none of those things happened.

They arrived at the rec room, peering in from the door, and Cecil was right there on the other side of the room.

They were alive. They were surrounded by other workers, chatting and laughing. They looked healthy.

They looked kind of pissed to see him.

Muffet put two hands on Sans’ shoulder and arm, speaking softly to him with her head lowered to his level.

“Apparently they were just a bit peeved about you ignoring them for so long.” Muffet’s hands pat his arm consolingly. “It’s alright, dear, I’m sure they’ll forget about it and want to see you soon enough.”

Cecil didn’t look at them long before their attention returned to the other workers, playing the game of Monopoly they’d salvaged with pogs replacing the main pieces.

The bottom dropped out of Sans’ soul, sending him into a pit. For the first time since he’d voluntarily hidden himself away with Muffet, he felt truly alone.

 

 

Muffet’s face appeared above him as he woke, swimming into his vision and solidifying into his new world.

“Sans, dear, how would you like to go outside with me?”

By the time they were halfway down a stairwell that curled deep into the complex, Sans thought he might have run out of time to ask why Muffet lied about going ‘outside’ when they were as far as he figured it was possible to be from any exit he knew of. Before he knew it, though, Muffet was opening a door to a damp cavern with rocky walls, glittering with moss and algae as if they’d suddenly transported all the way back to Waterfall.

Muffet looked over Sans’ face and giggled.

“You know that Red City is in a restaurant district, yes? This is one of the old paths for collecting natural ingredients.”

She took a cone-shaped object out of a pocket with one hand, another hand swiping some of the glowing algae from the wall and scooping it into the top of the cone, providing them with a meager light as they progressed. With an unoccupied hand, she rubbed affectionately over Sans’ skull all the while she spoke, and Sans shamelessly pushed into the touch like a cat.

“Red City is the only building with access to these paths, so the food store’s all ours.” She smiled down at Sans. “There’s a reason dinner’s so nice here, you know.”

Sans hoped she didn’t mean what he thought about collecting natural ingredients, but the first hint of other growths on the walls, slimy and distinctly fungal, confirmed it. Sans had suspected for a long time that there was no actual meat on Red City’s cafeteria menu. That was common enough in the Underground, and Sans had no real objection to the taste of fungus, especially when it was dressed up to be practically indistinguishable from a juicy steak or mince. Sans was probably one of the least picky eaters there were.

It was the texture. When you could tell you were eating a mushroom, that spongey, slick feeling, the brush of little compressed sheets like the folds of gray matter- it made Sans’ bones prickle unpleasantly just at the thought. Seeing Muffet scrape gooey threads from the walls into a woven basket for keeping didn’t exactly help.

He was going to go back to eating only breads and sweets for dinner every night, and he was going to get fat again, and she was going to be mad at him.

Sans’ foot slipped, and the ground gave underneath, breaking with a sickly series of wet snaps like a thick spiderweb pulling apart. He tumbled down a slant of earth, landing on his back on a cushy bedding of something he didn’t want to think too hard about.

He stayed there blinking in the dark for a moment, trying to come back to himself after the fall. A heady wall of odor blocked him, hitting him with the violence of a crashing vehicle. All he could process was the smell of death, and slime creeping between the joints of his fingers.

Sans trembled all over, trapped by his own senses until a dim light from up above lit up part of Muffet’s face, eyes shimmering small and far away at the top of the ditch.

“Dear? Are you alright?”

Something whimpering and wet bubbled out of Sans’ throat, but he moved his limbs to show to her, and perhaps prove to himself as well, that he at least wasn’t hurt.

“Okay, honey. It’s okay, I’ll get you up- oh, you’ve found the stinkhorns.”

That smell. Sans took another look around him with the aid of the soft lighting coming down the hole.

He was surrounded by some of the ugliest growths he’d ever laid eyes on, sweaty bulbs shooting toward the cave ceiling with dark caps that would have been humorously phallic if Sans had lived another life. As it was, the webby white veils that sprouted from the caps reminded him too much of things he’d actually had put inside him. They were like a visualization of what violation felt like, porous webs shifting under the light as if they were moving, reaching for someone to stick on.

Sans whimpered again, crawling shakily to the slanted wall of the ditch and trying to climb. His fingers dug into white slime, the deflated bodies of dead fungi that released a fresh waft of stink like rotting flesh. Sans gasped.

“No...no...please master...don’t...please let me out, I’ll be good...”

“Sans?”

A voice above him was a little closer than before, a promise that this could end. Sans still couldn’t stop his shaking. His hands felt like they were slowly being swallowed by the slime, and it froze his whole body.

“Please don’t...punish me anymore, I’ve learned my...lesson, please, I can’t do this...”  

“Oh...honey...” The kind voice was a few feet above him now, and his skull snapped up to see Muffet propelling down the hole with webbing. “You’re not being punished, dear, don’t cry. You just took a little fall, that’s all. It’s okay now.”

Sans yanked his hands out of the muck on the wall and swiped an arm over his sockets as he returned suddenly to unforgiving reality, horrified that he was standing there crying and begging because he’d fallen into a batch of smelly fucking dick mushrooms.

Except that the muck was still on his arms, and now it was clinging to his sockets.

Sans breathed in sharply, feeling like he was going to faint right there.

The rest of the world dimmed to a dull thrum of non-noise as he savagely scraped his eyes, attacking the sticky film. A maze of white overtook his vision, pulling him into a dizzy, circuitous map of flaps and folds like he was staring into sunbleached entrails. His line of sight swirled, terminating at a sea of grayish ooze.

“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you again. Or, well...ever.”

The world had shifted. Sans was on his back, but hard flooring was under him, and hands that were definitely not Muffet’s were on him. He could vaguely see the return of the artificial lighting of Red City through white, gluey webs, could feel the tail end of something like an engine revv as time fell apart on him again.

The fungal goo was still on his face, so that all had really happened. But where and when was he now? And who was touching him. The fingers were thin and hard, the voice wrong- at least wrong to hear it coming from someone who wasn’t-

The mess was swiped off his sockets with a clean sleeve, revealing Sans’ own face looking down at him.

The him over him put a hand to his chin. Sans wasn’t aware that was a gesture he did.

“Time shenanigans?”

Sans scooted along the floor a bit, pushing himself up with his elbows, trying to think over everything that had just occurred.

“I...probably.” He eyed the smear of white gunk on his clone’s sleeve. “I think I might’ve gone through a wormhole in a fungus?”

“...are you sure you didn’t just get high.”

The clone offered a hand to help him up, and Sans didn’t see any reason not to take it.

“So...did you ever wonder if, you met yourself-”

“-if you could finish your own sentences?”

That answered that. Both of them looked each other over silently for another moment before snorting almost giddily.

“Weird. I kinda thought I’d hate myself more.”

The clone shrugged.

“Same. I guess that’s too much work.”

“Give it time, then.”

The other him shook his dirty sleeve, making a face at the grime clinging to it. He didn’t look at Sans as he spoke.

“Did you go back?”

“Go...back?”

The clone waved a hand, impatient for Sans to catch up.

“When Muffet caught me with Shyren, I felt a pull like a wormhole. But nothing happened to me. Was that you?”

Sans had to think about that for a second. This version of him had probably had a little more time with these thoughts.

“That’s when I appeared back in the bath...”

“In our regular timeline.” The clone gestured at the air. “This is the one where we’re dead. I stayed here, so we must have split.”

Split? One of him went back to normal, the other forced to stay behind, displaced in another time. Sans stared at himself.

“You mean, we just...like an amoeba?”

“Like an amoeba.”

Sans stood still with that information for a bit. For something like that to happen...if time fell apart again, or when it did...would he continue to split? And if he did, was there any telling whether he would be the consciousness that moved on...or stayed behind? Which one of him was the ‘real’ one? It was probably both, all of them, but...what was he personally going to experience?

The amoeba Sans waved his hand in front of Sans’ eyes, grabbing his attention back.

“There ain’t time for daydreaming, me. Shit got serious back here and...we’ve got work to do. Now at least I’ve got someone to spitball with.”

Sans didn’t have to reach far to think what he might be talking about.

“Cecil.”

The clone nodded.

“But, I found them...they were fine, they just...didn’t wanna see me.”

“Guess again, dumb fuck. This is a timeline where we died a while ago, remember?” The amoeba him broke eye contact. “Cecil had to take care of the...slug...instead of us.”

Sans took one step back involuntarily, then a few more before ice swallowed his body and numbed his extremities in abject horror.

“They...they had to...?”

He was grabbed by the shoulders, the clone shaking him once like he was waking someone.

“Yeah, I know, I get it, it’s horrible, but I’ve been through the denial stage already and it’s really annoying and time consuming, so can we just move on to fucking doing something?”

Sans heard him, but he still couldn’t feel his fingers. He looked down at them stupidly, like he could move them with his eyes.

“Um, yeah, let’s...do you have a plan, or...?”

“For fuck’s sake.”

Sans was released, and the clone walked toward the door. Sans was only starting to take in his surroundings- his own room in Red City, which he hadn’t been in in who knew how long.

“Grab some clothes and come with me. You smell fucking putrid.”

Sans stiffly went to the dresser and redressed on autopilot.

“I, uh. Wormhole in a fungus, remember? It uh. It wasn’t a first class flight.”

The clone tapped his foot, standing in the door jamb without any apparent thought to Sans’ modesty about changing while the door was open. Not that Sans had been shown dignity by anyone in Red City, he supposed.

“Whatever. I’ve got something to show you.”

 

 

Sans was hesitant to ask why his clone appeared to be taking him the way to the visitor’s hall, so he directed the conversation elsewhere first.

“So...have you found Cecil? In this timeline?”

The clone shook his head.

“I got the rest of the story from Shyren, a little from Muffet. She’s super pissed at me for not being dead, or something, so thanks for leaving me with that, by the way.”

Sans wasn’t really sure how to take that. He hadn’t gone through a hole in time on purpose, but it wasn’t like he could say he wouldn’t act as bitterly to being the one left behind. In fact, he could now definitively say that he would.

The visitor’s hall in sight, Sans now had some new questions about what he was looking at.

“Has anyone else...noticed the...?”

“The swiss cheese of spacetime holes in the wall? Not that anyone’s mentioned to me, no.”

Right over the bench that Sans always sat at to await visitors from the outside, there was a series of holes of varying sizes spread out like they were suspended in an invisible wall. Each of them blurred towards the edges, so it was impossible to tell how this reality and the holes coexisted. Some of them appeared to be interconnected, hollow worms of distortion linking them in ways that defied the eyes, a tangling of optical illusions impossible to trace. Sans was strangely reminded of a large hamster cage with plastic tubings.

The clone approached them, unconcerned.

“But then again, I’ve been doing my best to avoid everyone while I try to figure things out, and they seem just convinced enough that they imagined me coming back, so...”

That notion struck Sans with some confliction. As hard as it was for Sans to conceive of himself having any significant impact on others' lives, he couldn't get the image out of his head of Shyren's face when she saw him here. And now his clone was playing some disappearing game, trying to trick her into thinking he was still dead.

He turned to Sans, holding a hand out.

“See your phone?”

That took Sans a moment. He reached into his pocket, almost surprised to feel his phone still there. It occurred to him suddenly to wonder if it still worked, after its trip through dimensions. He took it out to peer at it.

The clone snatched the phone out of Sans’ hands and unceremoniously tossed it into a wormhole.

Sans stood with his mouth hanging open, not quite caught up to what just happened. When he did catch up, he almost hit himself. The him standing in front of him, at least.

“Fucking asshole! What if I still needed that?”

The clone shrugged, and Sans’ anger was distracted by a whirring, jangling noise. The wormhole closest to the floor puckered, like a grotesque cartoon mouth, and spat out a phone. Sans’ phone.

Sans stooped to pick it up, straightening to see his clone holding out another.

“Wh...”

“If you need it, take two.”

The second phone was pressed into his hand, so he had one phone in each. The amoeba him reached into his pockets and showed more phones, like he was fanning out cards for a magic trick.

“I’ve got five so far.”

Sans held up the second- or first? -phone in his hand.

“Where’d this one come from, the one the hole didn’t puke up?”

“It was still in my hand when I threw it. But it also wasn’t. We can bear witness to a quantum phenomenon on a macro scale, an object observable to the naked eye acting like a subatomic particle displaced by photons, and here you are busy calling me an asshole.”

Sans slipped the extra phone in his pocket, grumbling.

“You _are_ an asshole. At least tell me what you’re doing first **.”**

The clone pointed into the hole he’d tossed the phone into.

“Alright, Mr. Picky, take a look at this.”

Peering through the hole, Sans could see another room. One of the private rooms? Whatever room it was, there was a gaping hole in its floor, inviting like a target. The clone took something else out of his own pocket- one of Muffet’s frosted pastries, the icing smeared from its unpackaged trip. The clone rolled the pastry in one hand, indicating the hole with his other hand.

“I call this one the Duplicator.”

He tossed the pastry in, making a hole-in-one with the alternate dimension hole in the floor of the other room. A moment later, the mouth-hole spat up a second pastry. The clone took a big bite of the pastry still in his hand.

Sans bent down to pick up the second one, and got his hand slapped away. The amoeba him picked that one up, and bit into it too, before stowing the first one. He spoke with a mouthful of crumbs.

“Getcher own.”

The clone pointed to another hole, one towards the corner of the bench. He tossed the bitten pastry through it. Sans watched the mouth-hole expectantly, but nothing came out. The clone got his attention by waving the same bitten pastry in his hand, still there like it had never been thrown.

“All the holes work the same, but the Duplicator connects back to this dimension. That’s why you get two. The other holes still copy what you send through, they just don’t give it back.”

Sans peeked into the bench hole, spotting the tossed pastry sitting on a chair in an alternate dimension room. The clone took another bite of his second pastry.

“I’ve been trying to figure out if there’s a way to send something through without copying, like we got copied. If there is, then that’s the same as an exit.”

The partially eaten pastry was put back into the clone’s pocket, and an apple was taken out.

“Thing is, not everything _does_ copy, but I don’t know why.”

He tossed the apple into the Duplicator, the apple went through the two holes to be spat back up in their dimension, and the clone showed both his hands with a wave. Both empty.

“So what’s the difference?”

Sans picked the apple up from the floor, polishing it on his shirt, but found he wasn’t as tempted to eat it. He just wanted one of those damn pastries. He deposited the apple in his own pocket, grumbling more. His fucking clone could probably make as many of the pastries as he wanted, but was still enough of a jackass to bite both and then put them away. If they made more, he’d probably just lick all of them.

Then something sparked in Sans’ brain. He took the apple back out to look at it.

“You didn’t want to eat this one.”

The clone’s face scrunched, and he put his hands over his pockets like a fucking child protecting his prize.

“Yeah, so? You go through the trouble of discovering interdimensional wormhole rooms yourself, then you can get your own damn snacks.”

“No, no, I mean the answer to your question. What the difference is.”

The clone froze.

“Wh-?”

He looked into the ‘Duplicator’ wormhole, then back at Sans.

“You’re talking about intent?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you telling me fucking intent magic works on _time?”_

“Well...why wouldn’t it? Intentions change the shape of the future all the...time.”

Both of them paused there. In a mirror action, they slowly pointed finger guns at each other, wearing identical stupid grins at the unintentional pun.

Sans rolled the apple in his hand.

“You said all the holes work the same?”

He threw the apple into the bench hole, and sure enough, he didn’t have a copy of the apple in his hand after he threw it. Only this time, without the return hole of the Duplicator, it didn’t come back into their dimension, either. It stayed in the other dimension, rolling to the leg of the chair the pastry still sat on.

What would happen if he took the apple back?

Sans reached in for it, but as soon as he did, a tugging sensation overwhelmed his whole body, and he was tumbling head first into a disorienting fall. He tucked in, trying to save the impact, and ended up rolling on the floor. He looked up in a daze, spotting his clone- through a blurry hole. The clone was frantically trying to peek in with his hands up, apparently wary to touch any part of the wormhole.

“Fuck, fuck, what the fuck were you thinking?!”

Sans sat himself up, trying to collect his thoughts.

“How many of me are back there?”

The clone stopped and looked around himself, stunned.

“Uh...just me, still.”

“I’m coming back.”

“What the fuck, what the fuck, no, what if-”

Sans ignored him, grabbing the apple from the floor and sticking his head into the wormhole. He was tugged again, landing indelicately on the other Sans. Of which there was still only one copy, apparently. The clone squawked indignantly, shoving him off.

“What the fuck!”

Sans brushed himself off as best he could. He held up the apple to look over it, then search around him. It was the only apple, and there wasn’t one visible through the wormhole to the other dimension anymore.

“So why isn’t there more than one of me again?”

The clone’s mouth stretched in a sneer.

“Maybe you didn’t _want_ another you.”

“But it’s not like I intended to copy myself when I left here, either.”

The clone snapped his mouth shut, staring off to the side with a snort. Sans kept gazing at the surface of the apple, tracing the dents from its mistreatment without really seeing them.

“Intent isn’t just what you _want_ , right? It’s...what you’re gonna do. I was gonna come back with the apple, but when I fell out of here the first time, when we were with Shyren...it was by surprise.”

He let the hand with the apple lower to the floor.

“Maybe surprise is a factor.”

He looked over his shoulder at the holes.

“This time, I went back the way I came. You think it’s possible we copied ‘cause the universe got confused what I was gonna do when I left...?”

“Pff.” The clone stood up, dusting his front as if Sans had soiled him by landing on him. “As if you matter that much.”

“Heh. ‘Matter.’”

The clone’s mouth stayed open a little, then his expression softened into a snort of genuine amusement.

Sans put the apple in his pocket. He wasn’t going to eat it, anyway. He peeked into the hole he’d just adventured in, the pastry taunting him from the chair. Going in again would be so much trouble.

He should have taken the fucking pastry back instead.

“Any way you slice it...I think that means this is a good option.”

That declaration got Sans looking at his clone again, who was now peering into each hole one by one, careful not to get close.

“Good option for...Cecil?”

The clone didn’t return his gaze, concentrated on exploring the holes.

“Obviously. Once we find out where they are, we can send them through one of these.”

Sans got himself up off the floor to start looking through holes too, but he wasn’t as certain as amoeba-him seemed to be.

“There’re things that could go wrong...Cecil falling into an unexpected hole while time is still breaking down...finding a hole that’s a version of Red City where Cecil doesn’t have to worry about the slug...” Sans kept looking through holes even while voicing his doubts, not sure what he was looking for. “Cecil...copying if...” If in his heart, Sans wasn’t able to let them go. It would be all his fault they wouldn’t be able to truly escape, just because Sans was in their life and...cared about them...

“Hey dumbass! Check this out.”

Sans was almost grateful to be called out of his train of thought, though he was starting to get a little exhausted by his clone’s constant verbal abuse.

He suddenly thought back to the way he always talked to Cecil with a tight embarrassment and regret.

Amoeba was stretched out on the floor on his stomach, looking through a wormhole that was casting a bright light over his skull.

“Was that one there-?”

“This one’s new. Just opened up.”

Amoeba made a ‘hurry up’ gesture with one hand, not looking Sans’ way. Sans crouched to his knees, getting on the floor next to him to look through.

For a second, all Sans could see was nearly blinding light. Hoping he wasn’t damaging his sight beyond repair, he kept staring with his clone until his eyes adjusted enough to make out...sand. He could faintly hear lapping, something sparkling as it approached and receded in a cycle in the background. Sans’ memories took him to Waterfall, but...

Sans’ sockets were starting to ache with the effort of taking it in, but he didn’t want to even peek over at his clone to check his reaction, too afraid he wouldn’t be able to make out the scene again if he readjusted.  

The clone bopped Sans on the shoulder, sounding excited for once.

“It’s the surface. The _fucking surface._ This is it.”

Sans felt the clone getting up from next to him, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He heard the clone pacing.

“We gotta- we gotta fucking hurry-”

Sans blinked, immediately feeling pain in his sockets. He should stop looking in the wormhole, but something was coming towards it. He answered absently.

“Hurry?”

“Yeah, duh, if this hole wasn’t here before, that means it could disappear- travel, whatever. We gotta find Cecil and get ‘em through.”

The dark shape moving towards the wormhole from the surface end was resolving in Sans’ vision as two shapes- two people walking right towards him. One of them was hobbling slightly with a cane to support them, the other person apparently following.

Sans felt an annoyed push of the clone’s shoe on his side.

“What’s the hold up?”

“There’s somebody-”

The people were close enough to identify, but Sans wasn’t sure if he was really seeing what he thought he was seeing.

Because there were two more fucking clones of him on the other side of the wormhole.

Why did Sans feel like this wasn’t the first time he’d seen himself with a cane?

Sans felt his amoeba getting back on the floor to look through, and they both simultaneously became the targets of Cane Sans’ cane-waving ire.

“Hey! You!”

Amoeba pushed a little tighter into Sans’ side, and Sans experienced a sudden, inexplicable camaraderie with him.

The fourth clone, the one on the other side without the cane, had an eyepatch over one socket, and an expression like he was getting a fast one pulled over on him.

“What the fuck is-?”

The one with the cane stopped the eyepatch one from approaching by holding his cane out sideways at the level of the other’s chest.

“Hold on.” Then he looked straight into Sans’ eyes, pointing his cane at him like a threatening old man. “Don’t even think about it. Keep your mess over there.”

Sans froze, eyes flitting to the side to meet his amoeba’s and finding a mirror of the expression he felt on his own face. Whatever face he showed when he looked in the wormhole again probably only served to make him look more guilty. Amoeba spoke.

“Don’t think about...what?”

The other him shook his cane at them.

“Don’t toss your fucking problems into a wormhole, you _massive idiot_.”

Sans closed his mouth.

The one with the eyepatch was staring open-mouthed into the hole at Sans and his clone, pointing and talking to the one with the cane.

“But wait, isn’t that-?”

The one with the cane took the eyepatch one’s arm and got them walking again.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Sans scooted back from the wormhole, and his amoeba grabbed his arm.

“What, are we just gonna take his word for it?”

“Well...”

“It’s still worth a try, ain’t it?”

A sound like a garbage disposal drew both their attention to the wormhole closing up, a shrinking puddle under the sun.

“No! No!”

The clone slid in front of it, ducking his head behind where it had been, but it was completely gone.

“I...guess that’s that? It wouldn’t have stayed open long enough to even-”

“No, no, if it opened once, there’s still the chance of more connections like that...” The clone got up, brushing off his knees and immediately pacing in front of the other holes, peering in each. “Even if everything’s fucked with spacetime right now, there’s gotta be a way to take advantage of it...”

Sans shuffled a foot.

“I mean, I can kinda see where he’s coming from...if Cecil were just displaced in another timeline, even if it’s the surface...there’s no telling if that would really solve anything...it’s not necessarily a get out of jail free card.” He took out his phone, wondering again if he’d be able to make a call. It still turned on, at least. “I think we should call Papyrus...”

“No!”

The clone swat the phone out of Sans’ hand, smashing it on the floor.

Sans stayed in place, holding his hand out for a moment as though a phone were still in it. The violence caught him so off guard, he wasn’t even able to summon anger.

“Why...”

“Are you _stupid?_ Call Papyrus? Jesus.”

“I was thinking about it before I came here, and Cecil wanted to be in the Guard...the king doesn’t have a real reason to block Cecil...”

The clone huffed and tapped his foot.

“God, did it take being stuck in time to lose whatever part of my brain you are? You think King Asgore won’t know who told the Boss about Cecil? He’ll just figure it’s normal that Papyrus knows a random whore?”

“I know, but-”

“And Cecil is gonna be what, a master fighter from day one that King Asgore will just _have_ to invest time in training?”

“...Cecil’s got some moves. They’ve gotten us out of trouble...and just cause they’re from here doesn’t mean the king would turn down extra manpower.”

The clone threw his hands up.

“Think about it! This place is career poison. Look at what happened to Lesser Dog. What happens if the king sees our brother sticking his nose in Red City’s business next?”

“Career- ? This is Cecil’s fucking _life.”_

“Against Papyrus’!”

Sans’ mouth fell open slightly. The clone was trembling, his hands balled into fists.

“You just don’t care what happens here because you’ll get to fuck off back to your timeline!”

“Huh?”

“You don’t- you don’t care if this Papyrus dies, or if his life gets fucked up, cause you can just...just go back to the other one who’s still fine!”

Sans felt his own hands curl in tight, one snapping out to point at his clone.

“Don’t you fucking dare suggest I don’t care what happens to my brother. Here or anywhere, I’d never-”

Sans stopped, too mad to speak.

The same seemed to go for his clone, who’d developed an aura so dark, it hung around his neck like the shadow of a fur coat. Before the atmosphere devolved too dangerously, Sans decided to be bigger than himself and chalk it all up to high stress and too little actual rest.

“It’s...been a long fucking day. How about we call it a night for now? Take a thinking nap, at least.”

Amoeba’s demeanor melted noticeably. Sans supposed that no version of him could resist the suggestion of sleeping, no matter whether or not it was appropriate to the situation.

If they woke up and the face of the world had deteriorated into hideous pockmarks of misplaced time and space, he’d just have to deal with it then.

 

 

They’d set up camp in one of the private rooms for clients, the door propped open slightly with a chair wedged in the jamb, so it couldn’t lock. Sans didn’t know what they’d do if it closed somehow- the cameras in here were destroyed, probably Amoeba’s doing. It made Sans a little nauseous, but they were on the same floor that had the room where he’d had to see the slug. It made sense, though. Just like before, the whole level felt practically abandoned. It seemed the workers in B Section rarely had to entertain clients as large as the slug, so the roomier spaces were seldom necessary. Given the other workers Sans knew in his section- Loox and Cecil in particular- he was surprised it had never occurred to him that Muffet might have sorted the occupants of sections of Red City based on the workers’ size groupings.

At least this wasn’t the same room. Sans was sure of it. Even if they’d somehow managed to scrape away all the slime so there wasn’t a trace of that session, Sans could never forget the exact geographic location of that room; his eyesight fuzzed at the edges if he even took an extra step down the hallway where it waited.

His clone was crawling onto the gigantic room’s equally oversized bed, towards the center by the end with the pillows, and Sans wondered if the other planned to have the entire bed for himself out of spite and insist Sans take the floor.

Sans got himself up on the foot of the bed anyway, ready to kick his clone if he got stingy. Seeing him lie back on the other end, though, brought something else to mind that Sans hadn’t really expected. But he _was_ fairly excessively stressed at the moment.

“Hey...would you maybe, wanna...?”

The clone’s head snapped up to look at him, examining his face.

“Are you _seriously_ thinking about sex? _Now?_ Christ criminy, pull it together.”

Sans choked back his words, suddenly physically mortified, his whole body trembling. He couldn’t even stand his own company. Not that that hadn’t been what Sans expected in the first place. How low had he sunk, that he was soliciting his fucking clone for comfort sex?

“I don’t...know what’s wrong with me...I don’t know how to stop...”

His clone did a double take at him, face crinkling in disgust.

“Jesus, why are you crying. Quit it.”

Sans wiped at his sockets with his sleeve, going for an edge of the comforter when that wasn’t stemming the flow. As he fought his emotions, his clone huffed and pulled covers over himself, turning onto his side.

Sans spent a little time hating himself deeply, wondering if maybe he’d only been made up of all the disgusting parts of himself when he split, when he heard a quiet sniffling come from his clone, too. Sans froze absolutely still, looking over to the now shivering lump of covers at the head of the bed.

“What’s...why are _you..._?”

The mound of covers curled up tighter.

“I’m...I’m fucking, I’m- scared. I’m scared.”

A block of ice formed in Sans’ soul, and he scrambled backward off the bed, clinging to the foot. His clone couldn’t really think...?

“You-! You’ve gotta know that I would never...!”

Watery, red-rimmed sockets peeked out from the blankets.

“Ugh. Don’t be gross.” He pulled the sheets up like a hood over his skull, shadowing over his eyes. “I don’t...I don’ wanna be stuck...here...”

Sans’ hands unclenched from the sheets. He slowly climbed back up, sitting on his legs.

“...what makes you think you’re not gonna be the one to leave _me_ behind next time?”

The clone scoffed.

“We both know it ain’t gonna work like that. Either you disappear again...or we both get left behind.”

Sans looked down at the bed. He was surprised to find he was actually starting to feel sorry for the clone, and not just because it was him- there was something separate about this that made it different from the self pity he normally would have been kicking himself for. He even thought he might be able to forgive all the nastiness if it stemmed from that fear. The whole train of thought of whether he was really talking to himself, or if another monster had somehow been created, was too bizarre to keep track of, and Sans ended up just trying to soothe him like he might another person.

“This timeline ain’t so bad. People...missed us. Shyren was happy to see us- You.” Sans gave a short laugh. “And we’re dead here, so even if I do fuck off through time, that’ll be the last you’ll have to deal with another me-”

“Frisk.”

Sans stopped, one hand still up mid-gesture. He started to deflate.

“I...guess they’re not in this timeline...Shyren said, right? I know you’re gonna miss them...”

Amoeba scrunched the covers up in both fists, trembling again.

“But you know what it _means._ For them not to be here. Right?”

Sans let his hand drop, going quiet. His clone looked up at him, eyes sharp and wet.

“I know we’ve been trying not to think about it. It was just...hard not to, when I was stuck here, and realized they’re not here. No, that no one here even, even knows about them.”

The clone hunched over, gathering fabric like a security blanket.

“They’re a time traveler. _The_ time traveler. The reason all this...” His shoulders shook. “They left it behind. This timeline’s...abandoned.”

Sans crawled forward without feeling his limbs. He didn’t feel in control as he settled at the head of the bed, even as he wrapped his arms around his clone and let him get the chest of his shirt wet as he hid his tears. He only knew that for now they were both floating lost in a mote in spacetime, and he didn’t know if it would ever end, and it was terrifying, and maybe he didn’t have to let it be the most horrible thing.

“...you sure you don’t wanna fuck?”

“You’re such a charmer.”

But Sans knew his clone was giving in, because he was giving in, afraid and tired and too in need of a physical distraction, something that felt good that could get him through this. Amoeba shifted so he was more comfortably aligned with Sans, and Sans felt a little pang that his clone had taken up the spot mostly underneath. Sans wanted to be covered by someone, even if it was just him.

“So which one of us is gonna...uh...”

His clone’s face scrunched up.

“Uck. _You_ make a dick if _you_ want one.”

Sans understood his clone’s distaste as soon as he thought of it that way.

“I don’t...wanna do that.”

“Guess we’re just gonna be creative, then.”

Sans formed his pussy, feeling the presence of his clone’s magic in about the same moment. He’d formed it out of purpose, not arousal, and he knew his clone had too, but the mere hint of willingness it proved caused a spike of a feeling deep in Sans’ body. Someone willing to do this with him. His magic tingled with warmth as he dipped his face down toward his clone’s skull. The closer he got, though, the more awkward he felt.

“What’s...what’s okay?”

“Wh- we’re not that different, you probably know. Just...just do whatever to me.”

There was an unpleasant twist in Sans’ soul.

“Just don’t. Don’t go full tuna just ‘cause you’re the one on your back. At least...participate, or this is gonna be even weirder.”

“Jeez, I’ll ‘participate,’ just get us started! Maybe this’ll be less weird if you shut up and stop pointing out how weird it is.”

Sans grimaced, but he was obligingly silent as he dipped the rest of the way down to lick and nip at his clone’s neck. The other’s complaining immediately fell away, his chin tilting up to make more room and his pelvis even lifting some, involuntarily it seemed.

“Mm...”

Sans felt simultaneously interested and embarrassed by the mirror image of him giving a show of pleasure. It made him feel confusingly self-conscious.

He felt a little less self-conscious when, as promised, his clone began to participate, pulling Sans’ hips down with both hands so his crotch was rubbing his clone’s stomach. The sensations finally pushed away enough of the pointless navel-gazing about the ethics of spacetime clones, and Sans was able to appreciate that another him did at least know things he liked, and it was kind of temptingly dirty to boot.

He ground down, his pussy rubbing gratifyingly hard over the other, the friction of his pants almost making him want to stay clothed through this. Although maybe, with his pussy bare against his clone’s shirt- the mere thought of that had a squirt of wetness soaking into the crotch already, and Sans rushed shucking his pants off to rub his pussy directly on the monster under him.

The wet lips prickled with the brush of fabric. Sans was suddenly lifted higher- his clone hadn’t had a single complaint about the shift away from his pleasure, fixing Sans with a stare that mixed heat and fascination, and rewarding him by arching into Sans’ grinding and increasing the pressure. A throb of intensity shot from Sans’ groin up his spine, and he was overtaken by a feeling like an urgent itch, making him lean forward for the optimal angle to rut his swelling pussy on the other monster.    

He could feel the shirt getting stickier, hear his own voice making shameful little gasps and moans as he got closer, but most of what he focused on was the building pleasure, the rise to a break. When he closed his eyes, he found himself thinking about Madjick- that had been a while- and the peaceful darkness of being hypnotized, and being touched by shadowy figures that begged Sans to allow them to fuck him-

Sans closed his thighs hard around his clone’s waist, his orgasm hitting him in a crash that lit up his magic, his cunt throbbing and spent as it leaked more juices.

He couldn’t help peeking up at his clone’s face, even though he was afraid of the judgment he’d see. But the other’s eyes were glassy, his mouth hanging slightly open. Sans tried to imagine what it would feel like for the other to rut on him until he reached climax on top of him, clinging to him like a sex toy, and he couldn’t quite get a hold of the picture in his head. He did turn a little redder, though.

That left what Sans was going to do to return the favor. Sans considered his clone with uncertainty, rapidly trying to work out how he was going to do this. For a client, if he had to, he could make it work but, in the end he knew he wasn’t too crazy about the feeling of his own fingers. They didn’t have the satisfying padding and girth of a flesh monster’s hands, and at worst they could become painful.

There was something else he could do; something he wouldn’t have trusted any of his clients to do and certainly never would have suggested of his own volition, under any other circumstances.

“You, uh, you want me to do...your soul?”

It was almost a shock to see the surprise on Amoeba’s face. After all, if he was him, shouldn’t the same thing have occurred to him? The capacity for slight shifts in time and space to catch him off guard with unexpected sex proposals was truly boundless.

Even more surprising, given their enmity so far, was the clone going ahead and manifesting his soul in front of his chest without a word.

Sans reached out with careful fingers, delicately holding the construct and bringing it closer to his own chest. He watched as his clone panted under him, starting to look heated again from anticipation alone, eyeing Sans’ movements with a growing eagerness.

He was actually just going to sit through the whole thing without participating any more than absolutely necessary. He really was an asshole.

But, Sans supposed- even if the clone hated him, couldn’t stand him- he did trust Sans. With all he knew about Sans, it was easy for them to dislike each other, but it also meant he knew he didn’t have anything to worry about from him. Except maybe getting his pastries stolen.

Sans brought the soul to his mouth, pressing his tongue flat against it and winding it like a snake on its belly. The clone’s jaw dropped lower for a quiet moan, his pelvis twitching up at the air.

Everything about masturbating the soul was familiar except for being disconnected from the resulting feelings, seeing the effect they had on another monster. Sans rolled his fingers over the surface in a massaging motion, folding his tongue to tease a line up and down the center, and the other monster’s hips twisted like he was trying to free himself from Sans’ straddle over him. He wasn’t- he writhed harder as Sans’ touches grew more intense, but he didn’t once fight his position.

Sans pressed in with his thumbs in two circles on the surface of the soul, humming with his tongue pushing at it. The clone’s stomach arched up again, and Sans could feel his own fluids smearing his bare pussy, a bit cold now that the wetness had sat a while. Sans bent over his clone anyway, pressing hard back and lapping at the soul with alternating tickling flicks of his tongue and firm, flat thrusts.

The clone’s pelvis rose off the bed as high as it could go while battling Sans’ weight on top of him, and Sans felt it convulsing behind him, the clone’s knees pointing inward along with his toes. Out of his open mouth came uneven, gasping breaths of relief, probably as quiet as he could manage.

When Sans backed up off his stomach, he could see that the clone’s climax had wet through the crotch of his pants, the cloying smell of release the exact same as his own and almost comfortingly familiar. For some reason, Sans gave in to a sudden urge to reach his fingers between the other’s legs and nudge teasingly at the clothed pussy a few times.

The monster’s hips jolted again, and Sans could feel the actual hot contractions of the other’s orgasm as it was drawn out, more stickiness coating his fingers from an extra squirt of arousal. The clone looked like he was in ecstasy.

“Oh fuck...oh fuck...that felt good...that felt really good...”

The squeeze of his legs wouldn’t let Sans’ fingers go, not until the throbbing contractions lessened from their fervent intensity to only the occasional pulse of heat. Finally, he went limp, his legs landing slightly splayed back on the mattress as his breath slowed down.

Sans didn’t quite know what he should be feeling. Satisfied that he’d given someone some pleasure? Relaxed from his own practically masturbatory ride on the other? Disgusted with himself for being such a deviant that he had no compunction whatsoever with literally fucking his own likeness?

Sans was spared any conversation on the subject, negative or otherwise, by the sound of snoring already rising from his clone’s chest.

 

 

Sans’ father had died in an accident at the labs, not at home, so whatever time hiccups they were going through now, it was worth it to thwart fate. Gaster returned to their Hotland apartment and went upstairs, shadows following him from the dissonant kitchen lights. Sans couldn’t remember if he said a single word.

Yesterday swam into tomorrow through a sea of darkness, and Sans was in the kitchen again, madly cracking open charcoal pencils over a bowl and grinding what he could scrape of the insides. Papyrus stormed in, and Sans experienced a fleeting sting of fear that only sharpened his anger.

“Papyrus, I know you’re gonna be mad about your pencils, but I gotta do this. Listen, do you know where we kept the ice melt from Snowdin? I remembered it being under the sink, but it’s not-”

Papyrus didn’t answer. He stood in the middle of the shambles Sans had made of the kitchen as he’d torn it up for the ice melt, to no avail. Papyrus just looked around him slowly, almost dumbly, taking in the wreckage. Sans snapped his fingers impatiently.

“Papyrus! I need the ice melt! You gotta go get it as fast as you can.”

“It’s too late, Sans.”

Sans rounded on his brother.

“The _fuck_ it’s too late! That’s why I need the fucking ice melt! I know you don’t get science stuff, but I need it right now!”

Papyrus moved slowly, far too slowly, so slowly it made Sans angry, and he looked in the bowl where Sans had ground a mess of charcoal and some incidental wood shavings.

“You’re not going to be able to feed this to him.”

Sans couldn’t stop the flow of hot tears of frustration. Papyrus was talking in that weird robot way of his, like he had no feelings, and he hadn’t cried once. Or maybe, it was that Sans had never seen him cry. After all, Sans never let Papyrus see him cry if he could help it. A line from a book Gaster used to read to both of them floated unbidden into Sans’ mind, _‘It is such a secret place, the land of tears.'_

“Papyrus. Bro. I really, really need you to do this for me.”

Papyrus put his hands on Sans’ shoulders. They shifted awkwardly, the first step to an embrace that was never coming.

“Brother, you know it’s too late. You saw...he’s already dust.”

 

 

Sans snapped awake to the snores of his clone. His own chest had to jerk a few times to get breathing right as he tried to grasp what was left of his dream. A sense of forbidden knowledge, a buried darkness that inevitably crumbled under the red lights of the lamps. Sans must have been woken by the light when the covers slipped from his face.

Sans slid off the bed, grabbing his coat from the back of a chair and rifling through the pockets until he found the time-loop copy of his phone. He fiddled with it, passing it back and forth between his hands, glancing back at his sleeping double, before finally sneaking out into the hallway and dialing Papyrus’ number.

“Hey bro...yeah, I know, it’s been a while. Sorry. You were totally still awake, don’t even give me that. Listen. There’s...I need you to do something for me.”

 

 

Sans hadn’t had the chance to actually confirm his hunch about Cecil’s location before he told Papyrus where to meet him to extract them. It was too risky to check without giving away the plan, considering Sans’ guess was that in this timeline, Cecil was being treated like Sans was in his own timeline- given to the slug, and then isolated. That was why Sans was currently using every blind spot he was aware of to get to Muffet’s room.

Sans’ clone had been furious about the phone call, of course, but in the end it was all impotent anger. Neither of them wanted to find out what would happen if anyone knew there were two Sanses running around, so that meant the clone was obligated to hide out while Sans met with Papyrus to deal with the mess.

It hadn’t occurred to Sans until after he hung up that this Papyrus should have thought he was dead- should have known he was dead, rather. It appeared no one had bothered to tell him. If all his brother had to go on was radio silence this entire time, Sans was probably going to face getting his head chewed off as soon as their impromptu mission was over. Sans had a guilty moment of being overwhelmed by a grotesque desire, for Papyrus to be as surprised as Shyren, to have thought he was dead. To find out how Papyrus would have greeted him.

As Sans rounded the corner to their rendezvous spot, it wasn’t Papyrus waiting for him. It was too late for Sans to retreat out of sight as the world crashed and he took in the regal form of the king.    

Asgore had his long robe draped over an arm, revealing the hard, mirrored armor beneath. Sans wasn’t sure if Asgore had entered Red City with this look in order to inspire more fear and awe in those who saw him, or to save his robe from imagined filth on the floors.

Asgore’s gaze fell on Sans with the sharp edge of an arrow straight to the soul, pinning Sans in place and freezing the whole hallway for a full second. Asgore gestured briefly with the arm entangled with the robe.

“Well? Where are they?”

 

 

Muffet’s tone was obsequious- gratuitously so, as she blocked the door to her quarters.

“Highness, surely you don’t have need of a common whore?”

Asgore waved a hand dismissively.

“I already turn a blind eye to your sweeping up the useless trash from alleys. You can fill the position easily enough here, but another soldier is a much more valuable area of need than satisfying your customers’ _lust_.”

Sans could swear he caught the king glance his way.

“Besides, from what I understand, they can get off to anything.”

Sans shrank down further into himself as he stood behind them. The king hadn’t registered the slightest surprise that Sans was alive, which suggested that he either hadn’t caught wind of his death in the first place, or it hadn’t affected his life at all, whether Sans decided to be alive or not. The indifference was decidedly more chilling than if Asgore had been pleased to hear Sans was dead.

Muffet kept up her efforts. This was probably the only time Sans had heard her sound anywhere close to desperate.

“They- the poor dear would be a hopeless fighter, your Majesty, have pity on them. They haven’t constructed a bullet in their life.”

“But they want to fight. That drive is the most important quality- the rest can be trained. We both know that the magic of intent can be a power to contend with.”

With that, Asgore indicated impatiently that the door was to be opened. Even Muffet didn’t dare try arguing further at a look like that. She unlocked the door with probably the straightest face she could manage. It was bizarre seeing evidence of her fighting what might have been actual emotion.

Cecil was curled up on the bed, one ear twitching up and giving away that they’d been listening carefully to the goings on beyond the door. There was a misty look on their face, an expression of pure disbelief like they were sure they were in a dream. They looked both more broken than Sans had ever seen them, and more full of hope than he thought he’d seen any monster in the Underground.

The king strode to the foot of the bed.

“Cecil. Do you intend to become a soldier of the monster army and do credit to monsterkind, in the name of the kingdom?”

Slowly, Cecil got up under their own power, slipping off the bed to wobble closer to the king. They managed to stand before him with an impressive level of dignity, only shaking a little.

“Yes, your Highness.”

“Good.”

Just like that, Asgore about-faced and began to leave the room, apparently expecting Cecil to simply follow him out. To freedom.

He did wait at the door, though, watching Cecil quietly as things seemed to sink in. To Sans’ shock, Cecil whipped over to look at him, fixing him with something messy and vulnerable that Sans wasn’t prepared to see or decode. Then in a flash, Cecil had launched toward him, gripping their arms around him tight like he was long-lost family.

Sans heard one haggard breath in his ear, and then Cecil’s bare whisper.

“Thank you.”

He was let go, Cecil’s fingers lingering on his arms as they drew their hands away. Their eyes and the tips of their whiskers glittered with a sprinkling of emotion.

“Thank you...”

Then they were turning, heading out the door, going past the king at his nod. Sans still had a hand partially out. How had they known?

Sans tremulously made his way to the exit too, but was halted by Asgore’s stare. Paralysis gripped Sans from his soul outward. What must the king think of Cecil thanking Sans of all people, when Asgore was the one actually freeing them?

“Your...highness, I wanted to...thank you for...” Sans’ eyes traveled around nervously as he tried to form words under the formidable shadow. “Even though it’s- this place, for taking them.”

One look at the king’s face and Sans knew he’d messed up. To thank the king for this, as if he were doing someone like Sans a favor. Asgore raised a brow, snout crinkled in distaste.

“Sans, I know this may come as a surprise, but I’m not fond of you.”

Sans startled. What did that have to do with it? Was Asgore saying that because he couldn’t go for ten minutes of seeing him without reminding him of that fact? Unless...Asgore thought Sans was trying to worm his way around to asking why Asgore would take Cecil out of here...but not him.

Sans looked at the floor, speaking in about as challenging a manner as he would ever dare in front of royalty.

“I was...aware, your Majesty.”

Asgore’s icy gaze cut right through Sans whether he looked or not. It was in every syllable he spoke.

“I mean that I don’t like your _type._ Your little brother, full of so much potential, nearly squandered because he had to take care of you for so long. He wasted years on your wallowing. Do you even realize what he went through, after your father died?”

Sans flinched, a recoil so hard it hit him in the past from the moment after Gaster’s death.

“...yes. Your Majesty.”

“I don’t think that you do. You know that it is the elder sibling’s duty to take charge? But not you. You allowed him to spoil you. You took advantage of your younger brother’s weakness, when he had his own life to live. He had to be a caretaker, because you couldn’t be bothered.”

Sans couldn’t move an inch, mortified that he might actually be brought to tears in front of the King. He shook with the effort of holding it back as he sensed Asgore leaning closer, his shadow falling darker on him.

“ _T_ _hat._ Is why you’re here, in the trash, where you belong.”

With that, Asgore swept away, the promise of Cecil’s salvaged future. The monster who believed in Papyrus and supported him through his dreams of glory and honor. Sans’ knees gave and he wept into open hands.

 

 

“What’s gonna happen to you, though? I mean, what are you gonna do?”

At the question, the clone only showed Sans a tired expression. The face of someone who just woke up and hadn’t experienced actual rest in a hundred years.

“We both know what’s gonna happen to me.”

They’d made it to the door to the food storage hallway, apparently not followed. There was no telling if there was actually such a thing as a ‘way back’ to Sans’ regular timeline, but it was worth a try. A disgusting, fungus-y try.

The clone had come to see Sans off, which struck Sans as unnecessary, and risky, and possibly sentimental. Sans supposed he would have done the same thing, but that didn’t really explain why.

Amoeba pat Sans on the shoulder, the kind of detached affection more along the lines of what he would expect from himself.

“Welp...seeya next time I look in the mirror, ugly.”

He turned and left down the hall, not waiting for Sans to disappear behind the door. Sans had an existential moment where he wondered if the fresh sting of loneliness was mutual.

Then Sans was through the door, back in the damp cavern tunneling out from Red City proper. The path gradually lit with bioluminescence. Sans shivered at the squelch of moss underfoot, wondering if he should be collecting light from the walls like Muffet had, but deliberated over it too long from reluctance to touch any of it. Eventually the path grew too dark, and just as Sans was struck with the thought that the rip in time could have moved, he heard snapping underneath him.

A cloud of déjà vu overtook him as he plunged down a hole, slime and mush propelling him along a steep slope of dewy earth. His fall was cushioned with a foul splat, his hands sinking into the muck just as they had before.

He was down here and it was pointless, there wasn’t a wormhole here anymore, and now Muffet didn’t even know where he was. No one knew where he was. He didn’t exist. He was dead, and it smelled like hell

“Honey. Honey, it’s okay.”

A hand touched Sans’ shoulder and rubbed down his back, and he didn’t even have the survival instinct left to be alarmed. He just looked over his shoulder to see Muffet there attempting to soothe him, and he threw himself into her arms, gasping and clinging for her embrace like he was starved.

She smothered him and told him he was a good boy, and he wanted so, so badly for her love to be real.

 

 

Sans had just one true drive when he came back- he had to make sure that this Cecil got out, too. Sans shakily pressed Papyrus’ number and raised his phone to his skull, having a brief, surreal moment to wonder if spacetime was fucked enough for phone calls to cross timelines. Who was to say he called the right brother?

“Sans.”

Papyrus’ voice came through as an airy breath, uncertainty and a little wonder making it hardly sound like him at all. What had Sans done to him. How had he let things get so bad.

“Bro, sorry for calling late. I have- there’s something you gotta do for me.”

There was just a moment of silence on the other end that Sans was able to fill with every combination and permutation of an answer that was possible in the universe.

“Of course, brother. What do you need.”

 

 

The hall to the rec room felt so much longer than it used to be. Sans hoped he’d guessed Cecil’s schedule right, but at least there wasn’t the added terror of attempting to extract them from Muffet’s personal quarters this time. And if Cecil wasn’t in the rec room, it wouldn’t be quite as risky under these circumstances to wander the complex to look for them.

The challenging element was whether or not it would be the king himself meeting Sans again this time. Sans wasn’t sure he was capable of dealing with leading a displeased Asgore around Red City if Cecil wasn’t where he thought they were. Rather than getting numbed to the king’s venomous words, Sans felt weaker and weaker every time he had to encounter him.

As Sans passed a corridor connected up to the hall in a T-junction, Muffet stepped out from it and into his way.

“There you are, dear. Come along, there’s no time for you wandering off- we have things to do today.”

No sound came out of Sans’ mouth. He had to follow through, he had to do something for Cecil. He owed them so much.

As Muffet bent to pick Sans up, a treacherous little voice told Sans that someone was already on the way for Cecil, and Sans helping wasn’t terribly important at this point. He still felt like the absolute worst creature alive as Muffet scooped him toward her chest in a cradle of gentle arms, and he leaned meekly into her, surrendering immediately.

Muffet stroked him as she walked.

“So good. You’re such a good boy.”

Sans couldn’t restrain the sigh that got out of him. Muffet praising him had to be one of the best feelings in the world. Even when he was able to remind himself of what was really important, of all the things she’d done, those rare times he could break out of the haze of Red City, he didn’t think he would ever be able to get rid of that part again. There was nothing rational left of the piece of his heart Muffet owned, and it was probably more permanent than the gooey green fumes the slug had implanted in his soul.

Muffet used one of her unoccupied hands to open the door to a room- it must not be one of the private rooms for clients, because there was no lock mechanism. There was still a bed inside, and a monster standing by it.

A tall, smoky monster with no expression, who Sans had last seen looming above him while Sans was strapped to a table with his legs up in stirrups. Muffet didn’t close the door all the way as she stepped in with Sans in her arms, letting it bump against the frame and creak open a sliver behind them.

Sans practically crawled over Muffet’s shoulder before she got him back in front of her chest with four firm hands.

“No, no, don’t let him, please Muffet, please, I’ve been good please-”

Sans burst into loud, terrified sobs as he was placed in the bed and held down, the monster already reaching for him. Sans gripped at loose fabric from Muffet’s dress.

“I’ll be a good boy, I’ll be really good, I’ll do whatever you want, no, no...”

The monster called Sans’ soul forward, and Sans hiccoughed, wretched fear spilling over into a litany of more pleas.

“Not my soul, don’t let him, not again, don’t let him...ha-a-ave my- soul, no, mercy-!”

At that, the monster’s features crinkled up, an odd smear on an otherwise indistinct face.

“Ugh. As if I’d want to have your soul _now_.”

Sans flinched as the monster eyed the green spots with distaste. Sans should have felt only relief, but the attitude crushed in on him, like he was trapped in the smothering walls of an air duct. He caught himself wondering for a disgusting moment what Gaster might have thought of the whole predicament, and if he’d had the same old-fashioned type of ideas. Sans liked to think he hadn’t been brought up that way, but it was hard to stay immune when everyone treated it like their job to tell him how filthy he was.

Muffet held him down a little harder, and Sans let go of her to lie back.

“That’s it, there we go. Be good, dear.”

She pet his face while the doctor ran a gloved finger over a spot on the soul. Sans felt the pinch of a needle he wouldn’t let himself look at, instead staring up into Muffet’s face as it began to swim a little in his vision. The sedative injected directly into his soul worked fast enough to paralyze him, but not enough to take him down immediately.

As a result, he wasn’t spared the feeling of Muffet moving away from him, or the doctor stepping to a spot between his legs eerily reminiscent of their last session together. It gazed down at him with that same cold, detached expression, gloved hands touching Sans’ legs and running smoothly up under his shorts then back down to his knees. Sans only managed a dull mumble in protest that could have easily been misheard as a sound of pleasure.

Sans may have imagined it in the moment he lost consciousness, but for a second while the monster’s fingers stroked the inner side of Sans’ thighs, its face seemed to change to a small, gloating smirk.

 

 

Sans woke up in the same bed, groggy and naked except for a hospital smock. He whimpered, but no one else appeared to be in the dark room at the moment.

An attempt at stretching felt awkward. His legs were asleep below the knee, so he only managed to stretch by pushing out his thighs, the rest of his legs nudging the covers into a scrunched pile. He was able to bend his knees up by pulling from his thighs, too, but his lower legs continued to drag with no feeling connected to them.

A thin band of light fell over him from the door. Muffet peeked into the room, the rest of her following as she strode to his bedside and sat herself on the edge by his waist. She swiveled her body and tucked her legs like she was sitting side saddle, stroking Sans’ side.

“Feeling alright, dear? You were such a good boy for it.”

Some of the fogginess of the drug cleared, but the numbness stayed. Sans felt with his hands down his legs until he brushed uneven scarring under both knees, and then it clicked. He didn’t answer Muffet, but she didn’t get angry. She kept petting him.

“It’s been very nice, getting to spend so much time with you. I promised myself I wouldn’t be sad, but...”

Muffet tilted her head, and her eyes had a slight, sparkling shimmer to them. The soft smile that broke the expression made her teeth look somehow less sharp, the effect like a beam of sunshine breaking through a shower. It was beautiful. She wiped the back of a hand delicately under one eye.

“I suppose there was no helping- you weren’t here for long, but you know, you do have a way of brightening the place. I’m really going to miss your humor.”

Sans was completely mute, every faculty that could have made him react or speak come to a grinding halt. Muffet took him into her arms, raising his torso so he was sitting up. He supposed that was as tall as he was ever going to be again. Muffet pressed his head over her shoulder, squeezing him in a warm embrace.

“I’m so proud of you.”

 

 

It must have been shock. Right after the operation, everything but the brief window of cognizance the first time he woke up was a blur. That was the only reason Sans could give himself for why he silently let himself be carried, didn’t try to bargain or even beg as he was transported across the streets of New Home and into a rundown multi-level apartment. He was vaguely able to interpret greasy walls, but they kept transforming into a rocky cavern smothered in oozy fungi.

He had a foggy notion of being taken down somewhere, maybe a lower level of this house dug indelicately out of a hill in a bid for more space in the crowded capital city, or maybe it was a pit of stinkhorns leaking spidery veils that mocked the new commitment his used soul entailed. The space certainly smelled bad enough for that.

He didn’t fight as he was fitted with a collar that tethered him to the floor, his arms secured behind his back. He wasn’t even sure if it was Muffet doing this anymore. Who was this binding his wrists? When had they switched?

He couldn’t stand up, and now with his wrists tied he couldn’t crawl, so the tether must have been for atmosphere alone. The monster tying him up bent to undo Sans’ pants and pull them down, tossing them aside. It left his shirt on, unbuttoned and exposing his rib cage and the glow of his soul he wasn’t able to dispel in his dull but growing distress. The monster looked him in the face and pat his cheek once, a mockery of consoling.

Oh. That was moldbygg. It had transformed into him- weird- but he recognized something in its face anyway. Maybe it was the slimy grin, one that sent a chill through him from the bizarre way it greeted him with his own twisted features.

The monster left, and Sans was alone.

A draught blew from what looked like an entryway door not far in front of Sans, even though he remembered being brought down. He supposed the apartment being embedded in a hill meant there was more than one ground floor. In a place like the Underground, with its many identical rocky corridors, that probably made this entrance more well hidden than an actual basement.

A slippery noise made Sans freeze at every joint.

Something was sliding down the stairs.

He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready for this. He was struck by the ridiculous urge to hide, even as the tether made itself known with the way it rattled from his trembling.

The slow mass descended as if gravity were the only force moving it, a slimy cadaver inching towards him, menacing him with the inevitability of rot and the end.

Not even the sensation of sympathetic parts of Sans’ own soul approaching from within its body could override the dead way it looked at him as it loomed. If he could at all understand its view of him as a piece of sex, a fuck toy, anything, then Sans could feel like he was at least that, rather than somehow less than that.

It paused over him.

If he didn’t say it, the slug would make him say it. Sans clamped his mouth down, of all things, suddenly afraid that he would make a fool of himself crying mid-speech. There was a thrum in his soul, and preset words started pouring out before he caught up to them.

“I’ll be good. You own me, master.”

Halfway in, Sans could feel that he actually meant it.

“I deserve to be used. I deserve to...be...raped...”

He did deserve this. Didn’t a fate like this suit a monster who was so cowardly, he would rather crawl on his belly begging than withstand any pain? Who didn’t choose to simply die with honor when he still had the chance? There was nothing strong or honorable about surviving.

That didn’t make it any easier for his body to accept as the slug’s tail pushed into his middle, tipping him onto his back in front of it. It parted his legs by squirming its rolling body on top of him, and he could already feel its dick coming out, taking up the space on Sans that would be another monster’s stomach, pressing onto his spine and ribs. Sans shook with the force of a sob.

“No...no...”

He kept repeating that over and over, and this time the slug didn’t force Sans’ mind to come around on the rape. Instead, Sans felt a twinge from the slug’s soul, its satisfaction at doing this to Sans against his will.

It made sense for it to switch things up from now on. After all, if it didn’t want to get bored of Sans, it would have to keep the experience fresh and new each time.

 

 

“We're back here again. I ran out of time again. How could I keep running out of _time?_ ”

The human child was standing in front of him. Sans didn't have it in him to figure out a way to cover himself, not that it would have helped much. The collar and tether told enough of a degrading story even if he managed to get himself cleaned up somehow. The slug's slime and its...finish were still all over his midsection, and the unbuttoned shirt remained the only clothing it allowed him. He was disgusting and he didn't deserve to be in the child's presence at all, but he selfishly didn't want them to leave him.

The scene was so familiar, like it was from a recurring dream. A dark room, warm red eyes, a knife, the promise of salvation. Now that they were here at the slug's apartment, the part of Sans’ soul that was still his- some experience from a past life- insisted to him that his suffering would come to an end soon.

They took a step forward.

“This is where I first met you. The real first time. Do you even remember anymore? When you asked me to...save you.”

They put a hand over their mouth, rendered speechless by an overpowering emotion that blazed in their eyes. Sans was about to open his mouth to plead that same favor again, that he was sure he’d asked before, like a fixed script. Suddenly, though, the child was ranting.

“It didn’t work when I only tried to save you. It didn’t work when I tried to save everyone. Is there a magic number I have to pick?”

They stamped a foot, tears blooming in their eyes.

“We got to the...surface, once. Without you. But I...” They hiccuped. “I didn’t want it...I couldn’t stop...thinking about, what if I’d done something a...just a little differently? And then I’d still have...”

The human hid their face partly with one hand, wiping at a continuous flow.

“Why. Are you. The one. I can’t...wh-when I...changed b-...because of...you?”

They took a moment to collect themself. Taking a deep breath, they rubbed their face raw before continuing, even though the tears started silently again.

“I know that you. That you want to make me...promise again. That you know that I’m a...time traveler, and. That this is the deadline you set.”

They flexed the hand gripping the hilt of the knife.

“You made me promise, made me swear not to go past this point. Not to...abandon you here. And I. Guess I...know...what that really means now...”

Their whole body shook from the strength of some inner turmoil, mouth curling down in the pitiful pout of a helpless child.

“Please forgive me. Please, please forgive me. I...”

The knife hit the floor with a clatter that echoed backward through time and space.

“I'm sorry. I can't do it again. I can't do it ever again.”

Frisk had their arms around him, their chin pressed over his shoulder as they cried, and Sans suddenly wanted his bound hands free for no other reason than to stroke the child’s back. Frisk spoke into the side of his skull.

“I love you, Sans. I can't kill you this time.”

There was a brush on his cheek as they pulled away, hurrying to the exit.

“I won’t abandon you. I’m here with you until it’s _really_ the end...no matter what.”

As they left, Sans was struck with how strangely the words clung to the air, like it was the first time he’d heard something unfamiliar. For once, the way the same door creaked with the same Underground current of their departure gave it the heavy aura of a ghost of the future instead of the past.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major spoilers for this chapter are below-
> 
> Warnings:  
> Consensual selfcest (who saw that one coming in this fic?), flashback to suicide, reference to rape that happens off-screen, permanent laming wounds, manipulation aplenty.
> 
> Please feel free to leave comments. Your messages continue to animate the unholy puppet that is my corporeal form and allow me to keep contact with the mortal realm for my dark purposes and communications. Thanks!
> 
> Or yell at me on tumblr: [[McLeech](https://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/)]

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Inside of a Dog It's Too Dark to Read](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7806262) by [wolfbunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfbunny/pseuds/wolfbunny)
  * [Red Flags](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8374159) by [0neType](https://archiveofourown.org/users/0neType/pseuds/0neType)




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